Two of Us
by JohnLennonsThighs
Summary: After the brutal murder of her family, Delilah and her best friend John Lennon try to overcome obstacles that could break their relationship.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Run For Your Life

1:16 AM, January 4, 1960

I was seized from my dreamless sleep by a thundering bang seeping through the thin walls of my house. It possessed the subtlety of a firecracker; and it sounded suspiciously like a gun. Not saying a word out of pure fear, I slowly slithered to the carpeted floor of my small bedroom like a large, pale lizard, skin partially illuminated by the cratered orb suspended outside of my window. Suddenly, the silence was pierced by a blood curdling scream coming from the room next to mine. And then another ear-shattering blast. My eyes, wide with terror and shock were glued to the door. Footsteps thudded down the hall. Clomp, clomp, clomp. The intruder was wearing heavy boots, apparently. As panic rushed through my veins like heroin, I jerked my head around, trying to find a place to hide. I'd just made it to my closet, pushing a few dresses in front of me, when the door burst open. The rusty hinges creaked in protest as the wood flew back, slamming into the wall behind it. I held my breath and peered through the tiny opening between the clothes concealing my body. He paused, most likely taking a sweeping glance around the room for any sign of life. Once he'd decided it wasn't worth his time to come looking for me, he turned and started down the hall. I slowly crept out from under the mountain of clothing, tripping on some damn cord. The last thought in my brain before hitting the floor was, _shit._

I heard the intruder pounding up the stairs, doubling back to make sure there wouldn't be any witnesses to his actions tonight. I watched in fear and awe as he made his way to me, staring me straight in the eyes, identity safely concealed behind a black ski mask. He raised the gun, ready to unload metal into my head as he took a step forward. By some miracle, he had managed to step on a container of moisturizer, falling back to the ground with a resounding thud. The gun flew out of his hand in slow motion, tumbling to the carpet by my dresser, less than a foot from my hand. I quickly snatched the gun, no clear thoughts running through my head, only instinct taking over. His eyes widened in disbelief as I pointed the gun at his forehead with two shaking hands. He opened his mouth to say something, but I'll never know what his final message was, because I shot him, then and there. Once in the shoulder and once in the head. As soon as it was over, a dark, profound realization overcame me. He was dead. I'd just killed a man. In my house. Then another thought hit me. He'd killed my family. Or had he? I'd only heard two gunshots and one scream. There were 3 other people in my house. My sister, my dad and my mom. No, one of them would've come out and tried to stop this guy, right? Or at least call the cops. Right? I wasn't exactly sure what to do at that moment, so I tore off the man's ski mask. I was eager, yet reluctant to find out the identity of the man who'd killed my whole family so ruthlessly and without any apparent reason. When the black fabric was thrown the ground and his face became clear, tears welled up in my eyes as I shook my head in disgust and shock. It was my dad. My own father. He killed them. I fled the room, bolting down the hall to my parents' room. There was my mother, slumbering peacefully forever. If one ignored the ever-growing red spot over her heart, they'd surely think she was in a deep, beautiful sleep. I couldn't bring myself to touch her, so I only managed a few simple words between my uncontrollable sobs.

"I love you".

I turned my back and ran back down the hall where I'd come from. My stomach dropped as I entered my sister, Lucy's bedroom. She was slumped against the wall opposite the door, blood pouring out of a nasty gash at her right temple. I told her I loved her, as well, and continued on my way back to my bedroom. Stepping over my father's dead body, I bent down and retrieved the mask, throwing it over his face so I wouldn't have to look at it anymore. If I had to see the look in his eyes one more time, I swore I was going to be sick. It wasn't an expression of remorse, sadness or even pain. There was no look. His eyes were empty. Devoid of any expression. They'd been like that when he'd come into my bedroom to slaughter me. His intentions were clear, but his motives were not. Why would he murder our family? He'd always made a point to tell each of us that he loved us everyday, giving us each hugs and a kiss for Mum before he departed for his job at the bank. None of it made sense. But I could ponder everything further later. Snapping myself out of my thoughts, I began to feverishly hurl random clothes into an overnight bag, sweeping my cosmetics and toiletries off of my dresser without even looking to see what I'd packed for myself. I didn't care what I'd bring, as long as I had money. I couldn't stay here much longer. Once I'd gotten everything I thought was necessary, I hastily ran down the hall to my parents bedroom, not daring to look over at my dead mother as I broke into my parents' stash of money in their closet. They'd always told me that if I ever ended up in a situation where I was on my own (like this, except where Dad didn't murder everyone) that I could come in and grab all of the cash. They'd also made it extremely clear that this was for emergencies only, not for going with friends. This was for life or death situations. Well, this was certainly an emergency. Once I'd grabbed what little money there was, I headed for the stairs, coasting my hand along the wooden banister as I sprinted for the front door. I pulled on my winter jacket and boots and stuffed the money into one of the inside pockets for safe keeping. Slinging my backpack over my shoulder, I stepped through the front door, closing it and sprinted to the one place I knew I'd be safe.

John's house.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: I Need You

1:36 AM, January 4, 1960

The icy wind whipped at my face and stung my extremeties as I stumbled through the three backyards separating John's house from mine. Not a light was on in his quaint little house. Then again, why would there be? It was nearly 2 in the morning. And I highly doubted John would be out clubbing at this time in the winter.

I'd known John since I moved to Liverpool 3 years ago. He was 17 and I was 15. Our houses were only three doors down from each other, so naturally, his Aunt Mimi had come to welcome us to the neighborhood with a plate of warm brownies and an even warmer smile. And there was John, slinking along behind her, clearly embarrassed to be out greeting the new family when he'd much rather be out fucking around with his teddy boy pals. Oh, that John Lennon. When I first laid eyes on him, I knew I was in love. His carefully slicked-back hair, leather jacket, cuffed pants and black boots caught my attention, yes, but more than anything it was his smoldering eyes. Once they'd gotten past my parents and gushing sister to peer at me, surprise and interest flashed through them. A flash so subtle you'd never notice it if you hadn't been looking in the first place. He had a nose that reminded me of a bird's beak, but in a cute way, foreboding almond eyes, and adorably thin lips that were just begging to be kissed. Lucy had always been fond of him, saying how cute he was and oh, would he ever look at her the way he looked at me? I'd always denied any rumours about John Lennon having an eye for me, though several girls at school were constantly on my case about it. But whenever he approached me, he'd only be friendly. We eventually became best friends after his mother, Julia was hit by a drunk police officer. I was there, watching the whole thing unfold. I was rooted to the spot, mouth agape when he came running over, others trailing behind him to behold the spectacle. When they took her away, he fought to keep her there, knocking out one of the paramedics. I dragged him away, telling him she was gone, he couldn't keep her lifeless body. My touch seemed to transform him. He turned and clutched my body tightly, sobbing into my neck. I brought him back to Mimi's and comforted him, even sleeping over to make sure he'd be alright. It had always seemed apparent to me that he viewed me as nothing but a friend, so I'd always kept my romantic feelings toward him to myself.

I tapped quietly on his window, cautious about waking Mimi. Light illuminated the window, casting a soft glow onto my face and the dark snow behind me. Soon enough, John pushed the curtain back, raising an eyebrow at me before sliding open the window.

"Quick now, luv. Don't wanna let the cold in", he whispered to me as he grabbed both of my hands and helped me into his room. He quietly shut the window, closing the curtains again. I shrugged off my backpack, jacket and boots as he crossed the room, flipping off the light. I noticed that he was wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts, and saved this image for a time when I wasn't so overcome with grief. I took a seat on his bed, feeling him wrap his arms around me, rubbing my frigid arms in the dark as he enveloped both of us in his warm blanket.

"What's going on, Delilah? Problems with your parents again?", he asked me, sincere concern dripping from his voice.

I lost it then. Problems with my parents. I laughed darkly to myself, thinking how much the last "problems" contrasted to my current situation. The last time I'd come to John's house in the middle of the night was when they'd grounded me for staying out too late. I was pissed off. I'd only been late by 5 minutes! Now, I didn't even have parents.

The sobs racked my body again, my chest heaving against John as he held me close and rocked us back and forth, shushing me as he smoothed my hair back. He waited out the storm patiently, not saying a word until I'd told him everything. The whole time I was telling the outrageous story, he held an expression as blank as my father's when he had come to murder me not an hour ago. The words eventually stopped flowing, and John still kept the same look on his face. It almost wasn't visible in the half-light, but a single tear trickled down his face, soon followed by a stream of tears. He cried silently for me, bringing me closer to him as he told me over and over how sorry he was that I'd gone through something so horrendous. We wept together, gripping each other's body as if it were a life preserver and we were drowning in a sea of emotion. I felt a gaping hole in my chest once we'd both calmed down some. We stayed up talking the whole night, never once letting go of each other. John knew what it was like to lose your parents. We just didn't share the same circumstances. He never had siblings, so he couldn't really relate on that part. He lost his mum to a drunk driver, I lost mine to my father. His dad left when he was small, I killed mine.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: And I Love Her

12:06 PM, January 4, 1960

I awoke to the feeling of someone's calloused fingertips tracing imaginary lines on my back, heat radiating from their body pressed to mine. The events of the previous night came flooding back to me. I began to cry again, still in shock from my family's assassination. John must've noticed my body quivering because he took me in his arms, turning me to face him so that he could bring me into his chest. A waterfall of tears soaked his bare skin as I completely let go, not caring about him seeing me in such a poor state. I dug my fingertips into his back, afraid that he'd let go.

"Shh shhh, it's alright, Delilah. I'm going to take care of you from now on, alright? Shh, it's going to be okay, luv", he murmured between soft kisses to my head. My crying ceased again and I struggled to breathe evenly, pulling away from John to rub at my eyes. I slipped off the bed and made my way through the familiar house to the bathroom. I knew I wasn't at risk of being seen by Mimi, as she was at work, so I didn't bother shutting the door. I peered at myself, taken aback by my disgusting appearance. My eyes were bloodshot from crying so much and my complexion was nearly translucent. I was an extremely pale person, but this was definitely not normal. My long, dark, curly hair was fine, but my bottom lip was split. I didn't remember cutting my lip, then again, I didn't remember much of anything. It was all a blur last night. I needed to wash the memories away. I quickly stripped out of my black lacy panties and John's borrowed dress shirt, about to step into the shower when I did a double take in the mirror. My torso was badly bruised. Just under my breasts, at least 5 massive red and purple bruises littered my skin, several more made a trail around to my back. I realized then what John had been doing earlier. His hand had been up my shirt, gently tracing the many bruises running up and down my spine, ending at my right thigh. Most of the bruises seemed to be on my torso. They hurt to touch, but only if I put a bit of pressure on them. I bit my lip, giving my naked, battered reflection one last glance. The hot water soothed my aching body as I stood under the jet stream. After 5 minutes of just sitting under the water, I turned off the shower and stepped out, wrapping a fluffy white towel around my shivering body.

John was sitting on the bed, fully dressed when I reentered the room. His eyes widened as he took in my near naked form, quickly looking away as a rosy blush crept onto his face. I glanced down, embarrassed and pulled out clean clothes of my own. John turned around as I dressed.

"You know, it's not really a big deal if you see me naked, John. I mean, it's already happened before", I told him quietly, giving him a teasing smile as he turned around.

"I suppose you're right. Nonetheless, I feel it's more, erm, respectful of me to turn away instead of ogling your nude body, yeah?", he replied, winking.

I smiled and sat down next to him.

"Thank you. For being there for me, you know. You're the only person I can really trust, John", I told him sincerely, clasping my hands together on my lap.

He reached over, placing a hand on mine and kissed me sweetly on the temple.

"It's not a problem at all. You...you've just been through hell, sweetheart. The least I can do is comfort you", he said almost inaudibly.

There was a comfortable silence as thoughts from the previous night echoed through our minds.

"Well", John sniffed. "What do you say we make something to eat? You hungry?".

I nodded, not looking at him. He grasped my chin softly and turned my face to meet his.

"I know this is tough, but you've got to get on with things. This is only the beginning. Mimi will have to be notified that you're staying with us, we'll have to get your stuff from your house and the cops are gonna want to talk to you, eventually. And it ain't gonna look too good when you admit you killed your own father, no matter if it was self-defense. So come 'ead, luv. Let's just enjoy the rest of today. We'll sort things out later", he said.

I sighed. "I can't go back there, Johnny. And...I can't stay with you. You're completely right. The cops won't like my side of the story one bit. A respectable bank manager murders his whole family except me, because I got lucky and managed to kill him before he could kill me? No way. They'll think I did all of it. After all, it'll only be my prints on the gun. He was wearing gloves. I have to run away, John. I can't stay here. But I am really grateful that you'd take me in", I told him, close to breaking down again. I really wanted to stay with him. I needed John more than ever right now. But I had to go. Lay low and hope I wasn't approached by the police. All I had to do was get out of the country. By then, I'd be free. They'd never come looking for me. They'd just assume I left and killed myself because of guilt or something.

"I'll go with you, then. You can't just go off by yourself. I won't let you", he said, still gripping my hand.

"Why?", I asked.

"Because...you know what they say. You'll do anything to protect the ones you love. And I love you, Delilah".


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: I Want To Tell You

6:23 PM, January 4, 1960

Since the moment we'd woken up earlier that day, John and I had been trying to come up with a way to flee the country. We knew we'd have to do it soon, before news of my family's murder got out. I wondered if last night's events had caught the attention of anyone in the neighborhood yet. If they'd heard the gun shots, if they'd seen me tripping over my own feet as I made a break for it to John's house. How about my footprints tracked through the snow in the three backyards that separated our houses? They'd know soon enough. Which was why John and I had to leave as soon as possible. Meanwhile, thoughts of my father's psychotic actions coursed through my head, making me feel lightheaded and nauseous. I couldn't believe he'd do something like that. On another note, no matter what his thoughts were, my whole family was dead. My immediate family were the only family I had left until last night. Mum said our relatives were all dead or not in contact with her anymore. Same for Dad. Dad. Confusion gave way to sadness and sadness gave way to anger. I was furious. He took away everything. Except John. I was thankful for John. He was the only thing that mattered to me anymore. Just when I thought I didn't have anything left to live for, John took me by surprise by putting his heart on the line for me. He had told me he was willing to risk everything just for me. An overwhelming sense of love washed over me just thinking about him. It was all so cliche, my feelings for him. But our situation was no ordinary one.

I was brought out of my wandering thoughts as Mimi waved her hand in front of my face, looking amused.

"Earth to Delilah. Where were you?", she asked, referring to my previous expression: a blank stare boring into the dining room china cabinet.

"Just thinking, Mimi", I blushed, trying not to cry as I thought about the conversation that was about to take place.

"About what, dear?", she inquired, carrying the dirty plates to the kitchen sink for washing.

I took a deep breath and watched as she tied her red apron around her waist, plunging her delicate, aged hands into the scalding dishwater.

"Well?", she paused, glancing at me before continuing to scrub away at a plate.

"Mimi...last n-night...", I started, stuttering over my words. My stomach clenched and a tremendous pressure built up in my chest. I was about to cry. I couldn't tell her without totally losing myself, so I shot her an apologetic look and bolted to John's bedroom.

He was sitting on his bed, head in hands, elbows resting on his knees. His head snapped up when I arrived. I gripped the doorframe, giving him a pleading look.

"What is it, luv?", he asked in a tender voice, his deep brown eyes full of concern.

"Can you...would you tell Mimi? I just...I c-can't", I sniffled, feeling the tears coming up.

"Of course", he replied, giving me a weak smile as he rose from the bed, crossing the room to give me a quick hug before walking off to the kitchen. I steadied myself and traipsed my way to the living room, perching on the edge of the loveseat.

"John, I'm sure this can wait until after I've tidied up, yes?", Mimi asked from the kitchen. She sounded tired and a bit annoyed.

I couldn't quite make out John's quiet reply, but soon enough, the two of them came around the corner into the living room, both looking at me with different variations of the same expression: concern. Mimi took the chair opposite the loveseat, while John sat down right next to me, taking my hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

John took a deep breath and began the story I'd told him the night before. The gruesome recall was punctuated by little gasps of horror from Mimi, clasping her hand over her heart a few times. And the whole time, John never once relaxed his grip on my hand. By the time John finished, Mimi had become silent. She kneeled down in front of me. I stared at the ground, feeling empty. She lifted my chin and my eyes met her red, watery ones. Tears spilled over and she embraced me tightly in her bony arms. I suppose it was funny, in a way. She was the one who was supposed to be consoling me, yet she was the one who was crying unceasingly while I patted her back and told her it was okay. But it wasn't okay. Nothing was okay.

"I suppose I should go ring the police, then", Mimi said, pulling away from me and wiping her eyes with a white handkerchief produced from her apron pocket. My eyes widened with fear.

"No!", I practically shouted, making her and John jump, startled. "I mean, no. Mimi, you can't. Please. They'll lock me away", I pleaded to her, sticking my palms together, prayer-like.

"Well then what am I supposed to do, Delilah? They won't come after you. You did nothing wrong, it was all self-defense. If they do try you, I'll defend you, alright? I know you'd never do something so beastly as what your father has done", she told me.

I sighed, running my hand back through my hair and finally tossing my hands up as I shrugged my shoulders in a 'what can you do' gesture.

She pursed her lips and disappeared into the kitchen to call the cops. I closed my eyes and let out a little groan. John's arms suddenly snaked around my waist, spinning me around to meet his gaze. We stared at each other for a few seconds before he enclosed me completely in his warm grasp. I slid my hands up his back, hugging to me as tightly as I could. This was it.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Chains

6:47 PM, January 4, 1960

"They're here", I whispered as I heard Mimi open the front door, letting in two boisterous voices.

John squeezed me in his arms once more and pulled back to give me a peck on the forehead. I closed my eyes and breathed in his scent, not wanting him to let go. However, he got up from the bed and strode over in the direction of the living room.

"John", I called out in a wavering voice.

He turned back to me, motioning me toward him, hand outstretched.

"Whatever happens, just...just please don't let go of me", I begged him.

He nodded gravely and wrapped his arm around my waist as we walked into the living room. Standing there were two of the most typical looking cops I'd ever seen. One was chubby and balding, literally sucking jelly and powder from his fingers. The other was tall and cocky-looking, hand resting on his gun holster, as if he were afraid I'd whip out a knife and go berserk on him. John's arm tightened around me possessively as he looked the latter officer square in the eye, showing him he wasn't intimidated.

"Please, sit down. Would you like some tea?", Mimi said, motioning for them to take a seat.

"Eh. Yes, please, ma'am. I'm sure we'll be here all night", the tall one said. I noticed with bemusement that his name was Officer Cox. Oh, that was one for the books. The other was called Wilson. Apparently John thought it was funny, too because he suddenly leaned into my neck and snickered.

"How 'bout that, luv? Officer Cox", he giggled into my ear. I bit my lip and shot him a quick, mischevious grin which he gladly returned.

Cox narrowed his eyes at us and cleared his throat while his partner simply reached into a box of doughnuts and proceeded to devour one, oblivious to the situation around him. The level of tension in the air was so thick you could've sliced it with a knife. I breathed deeply, averting my eyes from the officer's relentless stare. It was a chain of staring. John stared at him, while he stared at me, while I stared at the carpet. After a period of time that felt like forever, John broke the awkward silence, only making the situation worse.

"Well? You gonna take a picture of her? It sure would last longer, you nosy prick", John said, a sharp edge to his voice.

"John stop-", I started.

"Didn't your mum ever teach you to respect your elders, son?", Cox interrupted.

"My mum's dead, you pig", John replied.

Cox and I both looked at him, not quite sure we'd heard John right.

"Oink oink", John added for emphasis.

"Why, you cocky little bastard. You better watch your mouth or I'll-", he threatened.

"Is everything alright in here?", Mimi came in, saving us, with a tray of tea, cups, and fixings.

"Yes, ma'am. Your boy here was just getting a little out of hand", Cox replied with a fake smile.

"Behave yourself, John", Mimi warned, setting the tray on the coffee table.

I reached up to rub John's back, attempting to calm him down. He smiled down at me reassuringly.

"So, Mrs. Smith. You called earlier to report a murder. The murder of this young girl's family?", Cox asked, taking out a notepad and a pen.

"Yes. According to Delilah, her father killed everyone in her home last night. She managed to stay hidden and her father actually shot himself, the stupid bloke", Mimi stated.

"Thank you. Delilah, is it? Could you tell us exactly what happened last night? Don't leave out any details, because we'll be sure to find out everything anyway. We've got officers investigating the premises as we speak", he said condescendingly.

I couldn't believe Mimi had just lied for me. I shook my head and decided to just go along with it. I ignored his tone and started from the beginning.

"I...I was awoken by gunshots. So, I got out of m-my bed and hid in my closet. My dad came into my room, and when he couldn't find me, he shot himself. So I ran", I said, watching him scribble a few words on his notepad.

"Why did you come here?", he inquired.

"Because John's my best friend and Mimi...Mimi's like another mum to me. I knew they would take me in", I said truthfully.

He continued to hastily write on his notepad and asked me a few more questions. Everything was going fine until a knock came from the door. Mimi looked around, eyes wide, lips pursed, and answered the door to find two more cops.

"Good evening, ma'am. Cox, Wilson, we found something you might be interested in", one of the officers said.

"Oh yeah?", Cox inquired, standing up to talk to the other officer.

After a few minutes of hushed conversation with plenty of suspicious looks thrown my way, Cox walked back to the loveseat he previously occupied.

"Looks like you're in trouble, miss", he said.

My gut twisted. They knew.

"You see, Officer Reynolds is with the forensics team, here. He was just at your house, examing your house. He says your daddy was wearing gloves and there were prints on the gun. Small prints. We'd like you to come see if your prints match the ones on the gun. Come on out, darling", he invited with a cold smile.

"Don't call her darling", John spat at him through clenched teeth, eyes narrowed.

I blinked my eyes a few times, lips parted and threw a worried glance John's way.

"I'll come with you, luv", he said, getting up from the couch with me.

"Ahem. Uh, no you won't, son. She's going alone for privacy reasons. It's procedure", said Cox, ignoring John's warning.

"It's alright, John. Really, I'll be right back", I reassured him, stroking his cheek.

He nodded reluctantly and Cox shot him a smug look.

I walked into the dining room, where the forensic officer, Reynolds, was waiting. He took my prints without so much as a word and compared mine with the copy he had from the gun. He looked up and shook his head, a disapproving look crossing his face.

"You screwed up big time, miss", he said.

Cox and Reynolds had another discussion, this one ending with Cox roughly grabbing my arm to lead me away. I resisted him, screaming.

"John! John, help me! Johnny!", I wailed, attempting to get away from the cop's tight grip.

"Looks like you're being arrested for murder and resisting arrest. You don't wanna get yourself in too much more trouble, Delilah. You're already in pretty deep, honey", Cox said gruffly, leading me away through the front door as John bounded into the living room, following close behind us. He closed his hand around my free wrist, tugging on me, hard. I grabbed onto John's forearm and tried to stay with him.

"Don't you dare let go, Delilah! He can't take you!", John shouted, fighting over me with Cox as if I were a rope in a game of tug of war.

Two other officers stepped in then and knocked John to the ground, beating him as Cox handcuffed me, leading me to the patrol car. Mimi tried to get them off of John as he lay there, tears streaming down his face, watching me be led off. Cox shoved me into the car, slamming the door in my face. I peered out the window, sobbing, hands tied behind my back. As the car started moving, I took one last look at John. The look in his eyes wasn't defeat. It was determination. I knew he'd try to get me back. I sobbed his name over and over again as we sped down the road to my impending doom.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6: Cry Baby Cry

7:23 PM, January 4, 1960

My breath came out in short huffs of opaque clouds in the bitingly cold Liverpool night. I was wearing nothing but a short black dress and a pair of handcuffs that rubbed my wrists raw with each tiny movement I made. Tears ran down my face as I sprinted toward John's house.

"Hey! You get back here, you little tramp! I'm going to hunt you down! You hear? You aren't getting off scot-free! I'll make sure of it, if it's the last thing I do!", Cox screamed after me.

I didn't dare look over my shoulder as his voice echoed throughout the neighborhood. We were approximately 3 blocks from John and I's street. I was going to make it. It wasn't particularly easy running barefoot on the frostbitten pavement, dress hitched up to my hips, hands tied behind my back, but I'd say I was doing fairly well, circumstances considered.

After Cox had driven a short distance from John's house, encouraging his coleagues to continue with their work without him, he stopped on a quiet street corner. I looked at him, puzzled and wondered what he was doing. In one swift movement, he jumped into the backseat, pinning me against the door. I cried out, but he quickly silenced me by clamping his rough, clammy hand over my mouth. I squirmed, trying to wiggle free of his grasp, but that only made matters worse.

"We're gonna have a little fun, you and me. You're a good lookin' little thing aren't you? How old are you? 17, 18? Definitely underaged, which makes this so much more fun", he whispered into my ear, sloppily kissing my neck. I thought I was going to throw up when he began roughly massaging my breasts.

He straddled me, squeezing his legs against mine to keep me pinned. I looked on in horror as he unzipped his pants with one hand and pushed my dress up to my hips, exposing my underwear. He moved them to the side and roughly started probing my more private areas. I sobbed, disgusted as he drew away, about to replace his fingers with his penis. I noticed he wasn't pinning my legs anymore, so I kneed him in the balls, making him hunch over in pain. I bit his hand and he sharply pulled it away, slapping me across the face with his other hand.

"You little bitch!", he roared, clutching his crotch.

While my face was still tilted to the ground, I watched the key to the handcuffs fall to the mat on the floor of the car. I bent down quickly and scooped it into my mouth before he could notice. As a final goodbye, I gave him two more knees to the balls, making him scream in pain as I opened the car door and fled off into the night.

And now, here I was, running for my life, feeling abused and dirty. I needed John more than ever. I needed to feel him kissing me, telling me it would all turn out alright, eventually.

I reached John's house, the key to the handcuffs still in my mouth, and was relieved to find that the cops had all deserted the premises for tonight. Having no way to knock, I slammed my body against the front door, hoping they'd rush out to see what the commotion was. Just as predicted, Mimi appeared at the door, taking in my dishelved form, crumpled on the ground.

"Delilah!", she said in exasperation, picking me up off the ground and supporting me as we stumbled into the house together. She shut the door, locking it behind her quickly, before turning to me.

"What the hell is going on?", she asked, concerned.

Before I could open my mouth to answer, John walked into the room.

"Mimi, what's going on? I thought I heard you-", he was cut short when he saw me. A look of relief was on his face. Obviously, he thought I'd escaped with minimal damage. He was wrong.

I spat the key onto the floor and turned around so John could unlock me. He bent to the floor, retrieving the key. Before he unlocked the cuffs, he pulled my dress back down and I bit my cheek in embarrassment. Once I was free, I rubbed my sore wrists.

"What happened to you?", Mimi inquired as I peered at her while John hugged me.

"Terrible things", I said in a hushed voice, drawing away from John to sit on the loveseat. As we'd done earlier that night, John took his place beside me and Mimi sat in the chair directly facing me. Both of them urged me to go on with puzzled looks.

"He took me away. We drove down a few streets and he stopped on some random street corner. He jumped into the backseat and...touched me", I said, cringing.

The look of disgust and fury on both Mimi and John's faces made them look so alike at that moment. Mimi sat back in her chair, eyes becoming nothing more than slits as she flared her nostrils. John held my hand, softly stroking it with his thumb.

"What _exactly _did he do to you?", she asked with concern.

"Mimi, do I have to say it? I...this is embarrassing. You don't know how ashamed I feel right now", I said.

"Don't feel ashamed. Just please tell me what he did. We're going to get this bastard fired from his job", she said, eyes piercing straight through to my soul. I sighed in defeat.

"He came into the backseat and pinned me to the car door. Then he put his hand over my mouth to keep me quiet while he kissed my neck. After he was sure I wasn't going to scream he groped my chest and pulled up my dress...he fingered me and was about to...you know, stick it in when I kicked him in the balls. His key fell to the floor, so I put it in my mouth and kicked him a couple more times before opening the door and running back here", I finished, pinching the bridge of my nose.

Mimi was absolutely repulsed. She gave me a long hug and a kiss on the cheek before turning to John.

"Don't let her out of your sight, John. I'm off, now", she said in a cold, venomous tone. She shrugged into her coat, pulling on her shoes and grabbing her purse, walking out of the house with a final click as the door shut.

"God, Delilah. Your life is...it's fucked up, lately. I'm so sorry. I just...god, I don't know. I'm never letting you go again. Never", he whispered into my hair. I held him as tight as I could and stared blankly at the wall.

"I need to shower, John. I feel...dirty", I told him, wanting to tear my own skin off. He nodded and let go of me. I walked to the bathroom, stripping my dress off and stepping under the hot water. I started bawling in the shower, nearly screaming from the amount of emotional pain I was feeling. I dropped to the floor, bringing my knees into my chest, rocking back and forth.

"Delilah? Are you alright?", John called out from the other side of the shower curtain.

When I gave no reply but more sobbing, he wrenched the curtain open and stepped in, fully clothed. He closed the curtain again, lowering himself to the floor of the tub as he took my naked body into his arms.

"Shh, shh, baby. I'm here. It's alright. He won't hurt you anymore", John murmured, carressing my back with one hand while the other was wrapped around my waist. My arms constricted around his neck like a snake intent on its prey, pulling him closer.

"Don't ever leave me", I managed between sobs.

"I won't. I love you too much to do that", he replied. "Now let's get out of here, okay?".

I nodded and he stood us up, turning off the faucet. He stepped out of the shower with me, covering my shaking body with a towel as he led me back to his bedroom. I dried off and slipped into one of his dress shirts again and climbed into the soft warmth of his bed. I closed my eyes and tried to relax as he took off his soaked clothes. And then I felt his bare body slide in next to me.

"We need to get out of here. Soon", he whispered.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7: Ticket To Ride

10:57 AM, January 5, 1960

John's POV

I opened my eyes, glancing at the clock. Nearly 11:00. Sighing, I rolled over to find the spot next to me empty.

"Fucking hell", I muttered, scrambling out of bed to pull on some pants.

"Delilah", I called, checking the bathroom, which was devoid of life. I continued down the hall. When I reached the living room, I found a note on the coffee table.

_John, _

_I'm sorry. I can't stay here, and I can't bring you with me. I'm leaving for New York. I have to get away, or they'll lock me up. I need to go somewhere they'd never find me. Give Mimi a kiss from me. I'm sorry it had to turn out this way. I love you._

_Delilah _

Tears welled up in my eyes. She couldn't do this to me! I slammed my fists down on the table, letting the tears overflow. I had to find her before she left. I rushed back to my bedroom, throwing on a shirt and jacket. I bolted out the front door, not bothering to lock it behind me as I fled down the icy steps. I should've slowed down, because soon after I landed face first on the sidewalk with a sickening thud. Fuck. I stood up, steadying myself as I cautiously made my way to my car.

I flung the doors of the airport open and began pushing my way through the crowd, scanning every face, hoping she was there. Looking up at the departing flights, I noticed the one to New York wasn't due to leave for another hour. I whipped my head around frantically, trying to spot her.

After about 10 minutes of scoping the place out and recieving many dirty glares and a few shouts of annoyance, I found her. She was sitting on a bench, knees to her chest, staring straight ahead with a blank look. It was as if a levee broke inside of me just then, a massive torrent of relief and heartache flooded my chest. I poked her arm, making her jump and turn her wide eyes to me.

When she saw me, she didn't look relieved, she looked scared and a little bit pissed off.

"Why did you come looking for me? You can't come with me, John", she said in a quiet, furious tone. Her emerald eyes smoldered, making her look just gorgeous. But I wasn't about to tell her that she looked beautiful when she was ready to tear my head off.

"Remember what I said last night? I'm never letting you go. So deal with it. We'll go together", I said, searching her eyes for any sign of emotion other than fury. Nope, it was still there.

She looked away, failing to hide a single tear rolling down her cheek. I brushed it away with my thumb and tried to embrace her. But she wouldn't have any of that. She swatted my hands away and shot me a stony look.

"You. Can't. Come. With. Me", she enunciated every word slowly, as if she were speaking to a dog.

"I have to! After everything that's happened to you in the last two days, you think I'm okay with letting you trudge off into the unknown? No! It's dangerous out there, Delilah. You need someone with you. And...I'd like to be that someone. I can protect you", I said, giving her puppy dog eyes.

"Yeah, 'cause you've done such a good job of that already, right?", she sneered, folding her arms across her chest.

That one actually stung. She was right. She'd almost been murdered and raped and I hadn't been around either time. But I was determined to prove to her that I wasn't a coward who'd go running at the sound of trouble. I needed her to know that I would give my life for her.

"Please...you begged me to never leave you, yet you're the one who's tried to leave me. I'll do everything I can to keep you safe. I promise", I pleaded with her. Her icy glare wavered and broke as she considered my words. She bit her lip and threw up her hands.

"Alright. Fine. You're right. I'm being a total hypocrite. And...I guess I do sort of kind of...really need you", she sighed, closing her eyes when she came to the last part.

My face lifted into a huge grin and I planted a soft kiss on her lips, twining my hands around her body. She melted, linking her hands around my neck. She parted her lips as my tongue found its way into her mouth. A quiet moan left her before she quickly broke the kiss, her mouth forming a little "o" as she realized what she'd just done. Pink rose to her cheeks as she giggled, looking down. I began kissing her neck, but not long after that, she shoved me away with an apologetic expression.

"You know, I've been wanting to do that since the first time I saw you. But we have to go if we're gonna make the flight", she said, gesturing to the clock on the wall to my left. She was right. 20 minutes left.

"Well, I think I'm gonna need a ticket, yeah?", I replied, giving her a peck on the lips before jogging to the ticket booth.

It was a long flight, but I didn't mind. That just meant more time for idle thinking and plenty of kissing. I was thinking about the people I'd never see again, wondering how in the hell we were going to make it anywhere, and most of all, hoping my car didn't get stolen. I'd have to call Mimi or Paul to go pick it up once we'd arrived.

I glanced over at a sleeping Delilah. She wore a peaceful expression and the sunlight slanted across her in such a way that she appeared to be glowing. Her pale skin glimmered in the soft light as her lips parted slightly, making me want to kiss her right then.

I gave her a small kiss on the cheek and grabbed her hand, leaning back in my seat as I drifted off to sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8: Devil In Her Heart

10:34 PM, April 9, 1960

John's POV

"No, just let me sleep, John", she grumbled, shoving my hands away from her waist. She buried her face in the pillow and immediately fell asleep.

Delilah was always just so tired. We'd been flying under the radar in New York for 3 months now. Both of us had established average jobs that wouldn't attract any sort of attention, but I still kept in contact with some old friends back in home, as well as Mimi. The first few weeks in the new city were hectic, both of us trying to maintain some sort of order whilst trying to get our feet on the ground. Eventually, we settled in quite nicely. Until February.

February is where it all began. Delilah had started having night terrors. She'd often trash about in the dead of night, screaming and crying. More times than not, she wouldn't remember any of the events that took place during those nights. On the rare occasion that she did remember one of her episodes, she'd always ask me if I thought she was a bad person for killing her own father. I always replied with a kiss and a "no, of course not, luv. It wasn't your fault. Anyone else would've done the exact same thing". She started biting her nails anxiously, sobbing to herself. She grew distant. On days she wasn't working, I'd ask her if she wanted to go out. She always said no. On Valentine's Day I booked a reservation at a rather high-end restaurant, planning to propose to her. But she'd scurried off early in the morning to work, leaving a scribbled note on her side of the bed.

As the days, weeks, and eventually months passed, she sunk into a pit of depression, avoiding me as if I were some sort of disease. If I so much as poked her arm, she'd jump, turn a pale shade, and give me a look of fear mixed with something I thought was meant to be apologetic. I believed that she was afraid that I thought of her as a monster, and she was trying to atone for her actions. I would never think of her as anything but the sweet girl I met 3 years ago. But she was transforming at a disturbingly rapid pace, descending into an abyss of complete and utter self-loathing. Many times I'd try to console her, but she'd just shrug me off, tell me to leave her alone, and disappear off to work.

She worked herself so hard, and for no good reason. I knew she desired to be away from me and her own thoughts. That's why she did it. It was a distraction from the relentless ideas tearing through her mind like a hurricane, destroying every good thing about her.

"Delilah, you're scaring me lately. I don't know what to even do with you anymore. I want my girl back", I whispered, tears falling down my face as I turned her to face me. She stared back at me with vacant, red-rimmed eyes.

"Delilah, please", I croaked, anger and distress showing in my wavering tone. Her expression remained the same.

"That's it. That is fucking it", I growled, sitting up. I grabbed her and pulled her up to face me. No expression.

"Bloody fucking Christ! You need to communicate with me! I'm the only one putting out in this fucking relationship! You need to let go of whatever sick idea is bothering you! Just tell me why you don't talk to me anymore, hmm? I haven't kissed you in months, because whenever I try to, you pull away from me as if I'm a fucking poisonous snake!", I yelled, shaking her violently, trying to get the words through to her. I broke down then, realizing the abuse I was inflicting upon her. "Delilah, I love you so, so, so much. And it's hurting me to see you withering away like this. I miss you", I choked, sliding my hands down from her shoulders to rub her cold arms.

"John", she whispered, hysteria coming down over her face like a hood.

"What is it, my love?", I inquired, desperate to know what she was trying to tell me.

"I'm a monster", she said weakly, tears cascading down her rosy cheeks as she bit her lip.

"No, baby. No, you're not", I reasoned with her, pulling her close as she gave in to my touch for the first time in months. I rubbed her back as she sobbed into my chest, surprised at how prominent her spine had become. She'd definitely lost weight. Her complexion was sallow, her eyes red-rimmed with deep purple bags underneath.

"John, y-you...don't understand...I'm the reason why my whole family's dead. It was...all m-my fault. M-my dad...he did it because of...b-because of m-me!", she wailed, struggling to enunciate her words clearly between sobs.

"Baby, don't say that. It was all him. He was a right psychopath, apparently. I mean, how else could you describe why he would murder his whole family, seemingly for no reason?", I said, trying to win her over as I held her trembling body to me tightly.

She gave no reply, only sobbed louder and with more quaking. I was afraid she was going to break. She seemed so delicate, like a glass ornament hanging precariously over the edge of a fireplace mantel, ready to shatter into a million tiny fragments with just one little nudge. I turned her face up to look at me, kissing away her fresh tears. She sniffled, blinking at me with eyes filled to the brim with pain I knew I would never come close to experiencing.

We talked about her troubles until the night turned into dawn. She fell asleep in my arms and slept for most of the day. I called into work for her, notifying them that she'd be absent for the next two days, due to illness.

A week passed before I truly believed she was on her way to recovery. Two weeks into our still-under-construction relationship, I returned home from work to find her sprawled on the kitchen floor, dead.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9: You Won't See Me

5:10 PM, April 23, 1960

John would be getting off work in 20 minutes. Which meant I had plenty of time to do it. I'd explored and contemplated the idea of suicide several times since that dreadful night in January. I'd viewed myself as a monstrosity, an inconvenience. I knew that it had always been about me.

Despite my father's huge, but fruitless effort at attempting to conserve peace between him and myself, I knew he'd go off the deep end one day and do something terrible. Just not as terrible as what had actually taken place. I never saw that coming. An outsider could say we'd had our fair share of disagreements but we maintained a somewhat healthy relationship otherwise. You only knew what the ugly truth was if you'd lived in my house.

Dad got along with my sister and my mother perfectly. Sure, they had squabbles every now and again, but who didn't? I was his only real problem. Everywhere we'd ever lived, I'd had a reputation as being a bit of a hellraiser. Dad didn't like that. That's why we eventually ended up settling in Liverpool. He thought moving to a new country would magically make all my problems disappear. Obviously, he was wrong.

Dad wanted to eliminate me. Within the last few months before his death, I'd managed to start a silent war in which the women of the house fought against my father, the only male. Once his drinking problem escalated to a point where my sister and mother were taking shit from him as well, they sort of became my allies. I guess that was it for him. His family was falling apart and he didn't want anything to do with them anymore because they didn't approve of his alcoholic tendencies.

I knew that it was mostly him. Yet, I still felt a weight coming down on me. I hadn't exactly made his life as a parent easy. I was the troublemaker of the family, nobody's favorite. I aided in the collapse of my family. I needed to end it all, so I wouldn't have to put John in the same position I'd put everyone else in.

I loved John so much, but I knew it'd be best to just leave. I could live somewhere else, easily, but my heart and mind wouldn't be able to stand the pain of knowing that he was out there, somewhere, possibly searching for me. At least if I killed myself there would be a finality to it. I would be dead. Not lost, just gone. John wouldn't have to search, he wouldn't have to bear the pain of not knowing; on the other hand, he'd always know. And that knowledge would bring him close to the edge, but he'd recover, eventually. Considering the fact that we'd never even had sex, I found it strange how attached we were to each other. We'd once had an emotional bond, but never a physical one, which I'd deeply craved for a long time. But that desire closed in on itself when my mental state started to go downhill. I guess I'd die a virgin. John.

I had distanced myself so much from him because I thought if I did, he'd lose interest in me and leave. Then it would be much easier for me to end it all. But my actions recieved just the opposite reaction that I'd been counting on. He gained interest, relentlessly trying to get words out of me, touch me, comfort me, humor me. I couldn't take it anymore. I had to go. Now.

"Oh, Johnny. You don't even know how much I love you", I murmured, sighing as I emptied the contents of the small bottle into my mouth and swallowed them with a few large gulps of Jack. I didn't know and didn't care what kind of pills they were, I just knew they were potent, especially with the whiskey. Dad used to take them after he had surgery on his back to relieve pain, I think. He always told me that he couldn't take them with alcohol, or he'd get very sick. The last thoughts to grace my mind were images of John, a sort of timeline of things we'd done together.

John.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10: Misery

5:41 PM, April 23, 1960

John's POV

I walked down the hall to our apartment, eager to see Delilah after the uneventful day at work. Things had started looking up for us. She was getting better. I was able to kiss her again and she was even eating regularly, smiling.

I reached into my coat pocket, extracting my keys. The deadbolt drew back with an ominous click as I inserted the housekey into the lock. Something seemed off. I closed the door, locking it behind me and turning around to search for Delilah.

There she was, lying on the floor, a bottle in each hand. One plastic, one glass. I rushed over to her unmoving body, pressing my ear to her chest as I touched my fingers to her neck, checking for a pulse and breathing. Nothing.

"Delilah, you fucking stupid girl", I sobbed, lifting her from the floor and carrying her to the bathtub. "You can't do this to me! You can't! You stupid, stupid girl! You can't leave me like this!".

I turned on the cold water and sat down with her between my legs, her head tilted up with her back towards me. I stuffed two fingers down her throat in an attempt to make her throw up the pills. For what seemed like forever, she remained unconscious. Finally, she gagged. I responded by forcing my fingers further down her throat, bringing the pills back up as she leaned away from me, towards the drain. She coughed and spluttered, shivering under the steady pour of icy water as the last remnants of her attempted suicide left her body. Never had anything seemed so wonderful in my life as watching her revival. I'd saved her.

She collapsed immediately after that, prompting me to strip her naked, dry her dripping body, and dress her in one of my sweatshirts. I layed her down under the blanket, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest, ready to pounce if she stopped breathing. I brought my hands to my face and sighed, letting a few more tears escape as a million and one thoughts ran through my head, making me realize just how lucky I was to have her back.

I was so busy watching her, thinking about the events that had just taken place, that I'd forgotten all about my soaked clothes. I pulled them off quickly, shuddering as the stinging air of the house made contact with my exposed skin. I didn't bother throwing them in the wash, for fear of leaving Delilah. I had to stay with her, make sure she wasn't going to die.

I couldn't believe she'd tried to kill herself. I sincerely believed she was finally starting to get a grip on her life. It had been only two weeks since that night she told me everything. Everything had been as normal as could be since then and she seemed to be getting her old personality back. Did she not love me anymore? The possibilities as to why she would undertake such extreme measures on her life were endless.

Sure, she'd told me that she felt like everything that happened with her family was her fault, but the suspicious, untrusting part of me said she could have easily been lying. No, she was an absolute mess. It couldn't have been a lie. You can't just fake something like that. I'd never seen her cry that much, even when she came running to me on the night of the murder. I was completely determined to find out what had set her off, what was the final straw to make her even think of taking her own life.

I needed some answers from her, and fast. And the more I thought about it, the more it seemed to me that moving to New York wasn't the best idea. We should just go back to Liverpool. Mimi had told me that the cops were no longer interested in Delilah, and that they'd found evidence pertaining to the murder, stating that Delilah's father had been slowly melting into insanity over the last year. Which meant Delilah was free to do what she pleased.

From the very moment when Delilah started acting strange, something in me had triggered. We had to go back to Liverpool. There was no grand future ahead of us if we continued to stay in New York. We had no plans. I had to get back to England. Before we'd fled here, a few friends and myself had been in a bit of a band. I wanted to get back to that; I had this odd feeling that we would make it somewhere big very soon.

Later that night, while Delilah was still sleeping, I called up Mimi and told her that we were coming back to Liverpool sometime the following week. She didn't bother asking any questions, she knew I wouldn't give her answers anyway. I told her I'd be staying with Paul, as I needed to focus on my music.

Mimi always felt that my involvement in the band was minor, that it was all nothing but a hobby for me. She supported me, yes, but she didn't honestly and truly think we were ever going to get anywhere with it. I persisted. Music was the only thing I was good at. Everyone knew it, even Mimi, she just chose not to admit it; she said I could do anything I wanted, but we both knew that wasn't the truth. Eventually, she let me do what I wanted.

After we'd caught up with each other, I phoned Paul McCartney, my best mate and fellow guitarist of our skiffle group. We had two others involved; George Harrison on guitar as well, a rather skinny lad with bushy eyebrows and wicked sharp canines, and Stu Sutcliffe on bass. We were in dire need of a drummer, which was why we'd decided to take a break for awhile, which made leaving with Delilah a whole lot less complicated for me. But I knew we'd be back together as soon as we returned to Liverpool.

I was sitting on the edge of the bed, lost deep in my thoughts when I heard a slight rustling behind me. I snapped out of my reverie, glancing to my right to find Delilah staring up at me with her hair all tousled and my sweater hanging off of one of her shoulders. She looked so vulnerable and innocent, so full of fear and pain. She still managed to look like a fallen angel despite all the shit she'd just gone through. My chest felt hollow as I gazed at her. A soft pink blush lingered on her cheeks as she shot me a sheepish, questioning look.

"What?", she asked quietly.

"You're so beautiful. Have I ever told you that?", I said distractedly, my eyes still roaming over her figure. She shifted her weight and I was brought back to reality for the second time in less than 5 minutes. A million emotions spilled through me, coursing through my body like adrenaline. The top three emotions I felt, though, were anger, grief and confusion. Not a great mix.

"Why did you do it? Do you know how fucking terrified I was when I saw you just lying there, not even breathing?", I said quietly, but with a tone suggesting fury. When she didn't reply, I kept going, my voice escalating as the words flowed from my mouth.

"I was on the verge of losing my mind, Delilah! Why would you even think of killing yourself! You can't even pretend to not know I'll always be there for you. Or maybe that's just the problem for you. Maybe you don't love me. Hmm? Is that it? Because I can't find any other fucking reason as to why you'd do something like that to me! I love you!", I yelled, inching my way towards her as she recoiled from me. I must've looked like I was about to hit her, because her eyes were wide as saucers and all color that had previously been on her face was gone.

I slumped down onto her lap, resting my head against her thighs as I carressed her hips. She eventually relaxed a bit and stroked my hair, twirling the locks around her fingers.

"I do love you. That's why I did it", she began.

"You tried to kill yourself because you _love me_?", I interjected.

"Just let me finish, John. I'll explain everything to you if you just shut up and listen for a minute, okay?", she sighed tiredly.

When I didn't say a word for a few seconds, she took it as her cue to resume her explanation.

"The night of...you know, the murder...I just couldn't help but feel like everything was my fault. My dad and I never had a good relationship and you know that. And you also know how he became out of control with his drinking this past year. My mom and sister saw it, too. I guess we sort of ganged up against my dad. And I guess he didn't think too fondly of it, so he thought he could solve everything by just killing all of us. I know you're going to say that it's really all his fault, but the root of the problem is me. I caused this to happen, John. I saw what would happen between us, eventually. I didn't want to put you through any of my stupid shit, so I thought if I just ignored you, you'd leave me, and you wouldn't have to deal with me once I'd killed myself. But you just kept pushing; kept trying to figure out what my problem was. So I just decided that I'd do it and you'd move on and everything would be okay again", she said, still running her hands through my hair.

I embraced her from my position on her lap, burying my face into her stomach and kissing her several times. She kissed the top of my head and brought me in closer.

"We can sort things out in Liverpool, I guess", I said, my voice muffled.

"Liverpool?"


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11: Don't Pass Me By

8:39 PM, June 5, 1962

It had been more than two years. The day of my attempted suicide, John had suggested we move back to Liverpool. No, that's not right. He more or less _told me _we were moving back. He didn't exactly give me a choice on the subject, though I really didn't have an opposing opinion. When he explained to me why he wanted to go back, I agreed. He was right, there was nothing special in New York for either of us and there most likely never would be. So, we'd gone back to Liverpool and one of our close friends, Paul McCartney, took us in to live with him for awhile. Almost immediately after our return, the boys had been offered a record deal, and we all took off to Germany twice in the last two years.

I'd returned to my normal state due to everyone's tremendous efforts at getting me to realize none of it really was my fault. So, I was happy again. Happier than I'd felt in years, actually.

The band's popularity sky rocketed and they'd often invite me to watch them play at one of the most well-known clubs in Liverpool: The Cavern. I was friends with everyone in the band, though I wasn't as close to Stu or Pete as I was to George and Paul. George and Paul were like brothers to me; Stu was an all around nice guy and we got along pretty well until he left the band in '61. As for Pete, I'd never taken a huge liking to him, but he was friendly enough and we goofed around sometimes.

I strolled out of the bathroom in one of Paul's towels, picking at my jagged, bitten off nails when I heard someone clear their throat. I looked up, startled, and found Pete staring down at me with one eyebrow cocked, a lazy grin sweeping over his features. My right hand subconsciously wandered up to my chest, fingering the soft material of the towel and pulling it up a bit further towards my neck. Pete and George had stopped by tonight to just hang out and have a few drinks before their first recording session that was set to take place the following morning.

"Hey, Pete", I said in a friendly tone, brushing past him to proceed down the short hallway to mine and John's empty room. Pete caught my upper arm on the way by, making me come to a dead halt. I spun around, confused.

"I need to talk to you immediately, luv", he said in a hushed tone, batting his eyelashes at me as he grinned flirtatiously. I raised an eyebrow, unsure where this was going.

"Um, okay. Can I just get dressed first?", I asked condescendingly, gesturing to my barely covered body as I craned my neck forward and shook my head at him.

"Erm...alright, I guess", he said, clearly reluctant. He glanced down at my body, his eyes flicking back up to meet mine with an unreadable expression. His grip loosened on my arm and I shook him off lightly, padding across the carpet to the white door at the end of the hall. I opened the door, glancing back over my shoulder at Pete, whose eyes were still glued to my figure.

_Weird_, I thought as I shut the door behind me. Damn Paul and his house, there were no locks on any of the doors except the front and back exits downstairs. Which meant constant anxiety of someone walking in on me in the bathroom, or walking in while I was changing. I'd never had a fear of the latter, for Pete had never displayed any interest in me prior to this most recent turn of events. And let me tell you, I was a tad bit apprehensive about his motives. John was away at Mimi's tonight; I knew he wouldn't be back for at least another few hours, being that he'd set out just under a half hour ago.

I threw a worried glance at the closed door and rushed over to the big, dark dresser by the closet, reaching blindly for panties as I eyed the door with suspicion. I was being stupid. Pete knew I was changing, he wouldn't just burst in, uninvited. He wasn't that kind of guy, no matter what kind of feelings he may or may not have been harbouring towards me. I told myself to just relax and get dressed, Pete wasn't a freaking rapist, after all.

Nonetheless, I hitched up my underwear hastily, noting with slight annoyance that I'd ended up grabbing my most provocative ones. They didn't leave much to the imagination, as they were black, thin and made completely of near-transparent lace. Then again, almost all of my underwear were like that. I yanked one of John's oversized sweatshirts out of the closet, making the hanger swing wildly back and forth, finally losing its grip on the pole and falling to the floor with a muffled thud.

I pulled on the navy blue and red striped jumper, letting it hang just below my thighs. The sleeves drooped past my fingertips, making me appear even shorter than I already was. John said I looked cute in it and it was extremely comfortable, so I wore it anyway. I pushed my dark, damp hair out of my face and over my shoulders, allowing it to cascade down to my lower back.

My curls were becoming more prominent as the air dried them. Soon, they'd be out of control and I'd look like a lion that had gotten its' mane dyed to a dark brown. I honestly didn't have a clue as to why people took such a liking to it, constantly stopping me on the street to offer me compliments. I did enjoy them, though they got tired fast. Too often women would jokingly offer to trade their hair for mine, and unbeknownst to them, I'd nod my head seriously, wishing we really could trade hair.

There were times when I would give anything to have sleek, straight hair and look like everyone else. But that's when I realized that I really wouldn't have my hair any other way. It was a part of me and it was the one thing that really separated me from most women, so I took it as a gift most days. And after years of struggling to cope with my unruly curls, I was finally at peace with my hair.

I didn't bother to put on any pants because I knew nothing sexual was about to ensue between Pete and myself. He was a nice guy and he wouldn't push my boundaries. Besides, he'd already seen me in just my skivvies and a bra on a few occasions, so just wearing John's sweater was almost modest in comparison. Not to mention, Paul and George were downstairs and would gladly defend me if anything got out of hand.

I braced myself, placing my hand around the doorknob and squeezing my eyes shut in an attempt to calm down some. I opened my eyes, releasing a little huff as I turned the knob and opened the door. Pete was nowhere to be found. Relieved, I plodded down the hall to the staircase, easing my way down the steps to the living room. There he was, laying back coolly on the couch, arms folded behind his head as he winked at me. I drew back my upper lip in a look of distaste.

I spotted George in the kitchen, his back turned to me as he rummaged through the fridge noisily. Paul was seated in a chair, his eyes focused on the television, chin resting in one hand. Pete sat up, patting the spot next to him as he smiled cockily at me.

I scratched my neck and carefully placed myself a polite distance from him. It was in vain, though, because he scooted himself closer to me, resting his hand on my knee as my insides churned and my mind whirled in uneasiness. Surely George and Paul would do something if Pete went too far. I guess they were too used to my presence to really acknowledge my entrance and they didn't have a clue as to Pete and I's little scene that was rapidly unfolding.

"So...what did you want to talk about?", I said, keeping my tone light and only mildly interested. I looked down at his hand, feeling his rough fingertips start to rub my knee gently.

"Well, you see, Delilah...I've had a sort of...um...", he trailed off, letting his hand rest for a moment as he tried to muster up the courage to continue.

"Go on", I said, giving him a reassuring smile and nodding my head. I hoped to hell that I looked a whole lot more convincing than I felt. His hand moved up to my thigh, probably from a sudden swell of confidence at my smile. _Great, Delilah, you fucking moron. You're just egging him on now_, I thought to myself. His actions were making me nervous. This wasn't supposed to be happening. Pete was supposed to be my friend. _Only _my friend.

"Uh...hmm, I, uh...", he muttered, biting his lip as he stumbled over his words. I narrowed my eyes at him, willing him to take his fucking hand off of my thigh. "Okay I'm just gonna say it. I know you're with John and all, but I've had feelings for you since the day we met", he said, the words rushing out so quickly I almost didn't catch them.

"Look, Pete. You're a really nice guy and all, but like you said, I'm with John. Can we just forget this ever happened? 'Cause I think of you as a friend, you know? Like, _only _a friend", I stated, making sure he understood my feelings.

"But I really like you", he said, giving me puppy dog eyes and pouty lips. I cringed inwardly, hoping he'd never do that again.

It just didn't work for him at all. He wasn't bad looking, he just couldn't pull it off like Paul could. Actually, Paul made everyone's puppy dog faces seem stupid, save for one other guy in town. His name was Ritchie Starkey and he played drums for a local band, Rory Storm and the Hurricanes. That boy had the most stunning blue eyes that drooped, giving the illusion that he was constantly sad. He had this strangely endearing large nose and a smile was always plastered to his face. But you could tell he wasn't a phoney. He was just a genuinely happy guy and for that, everyone adored him. Not to mention, his drumming was superb.

Now, that Ritchie, he put everyone to shame when it came to the puppy dog eyes. And when Pete attempted to portray the cute look, it just didn't do anything for me. I'd already become a slave to Ritchie's version, and no one else could make me melt in adoration like that except John, Paul or George.

I bared my teeth in an obviously forced smile and leaned away from Pete.

"Uhh, Pete I'm sorry. I really am. But I can't. I just...don't think of you that way and I don't want to lose John...", I said awkwardly, staring at his lingering hand.

"Alright. Fine. Okay. I understand", he said after a long pause, retreating his hand back from my leg and making his way to the kitchen. His tone seemed way too friendly to be sincere, I knew it wasn't over with him just yet, but I figured I'd just brush it off and deal with him later.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12: Help!

9:43 PM, June 5, 1962

The rest of the night went by in an awkward manner, no thanks to Pete. I tried to avoid him, but he just seemed to pop up out of the blue whenever I was talking to George or Paul. He just wouldn't leave me alone. I saw those crafty smiles he shot at me when the two other boys weren't looking. He definitely had something in store for me, and I wasn't exactly eager to find out just what that something was. I decided to just go upstairs and read a book until John got back.

My plan was working until I heard a few light knocks on the bedroom door. I looked up in fear and my eye twitched a little as I dog-eared a page in my book and set it down on the bedside table. I didn't even have a chance to get off the bed before Pete crept in, opening the door only enough to let himself squeeze by, as if he were just coming in from a storm and didn't want to let in rain. He shut the door quietly and wandered over to the bed as I watched him with horror, frozen to the spot.

"Hey", he purred, climbing onto the bed to straddle me as his hands ran up my legs to latch onto my hips. I couldn't move. My heart felt like it was going to explode and warning bells were going off in my head. My throat felt like a desert and my tongue felt like lead. Everything was happening in slow motion. I opened and closed my mouth in rapid succession, trying in vain to form a scream, a whisper, anything. But nothing came out.

"You know you want me, honey. I can see it in your eyes. And I just can't help myself. You're a small girl, but you've got some nice curves. What are those, C's?", he asked, gesturing to my breasts. I nodded, he was right, surprisingly. Never in my life had I felt so self conscious of my chest, save for the time with the cop. "So we're gonna do this nice and quick. If you can be a good girl and stay quiet, no one will ever know this happened. And who knows, maybe we can have a sort of on-the-side relationship until you break things off with John. Baby, you know he's not right for you", he said as he pinned my arms and legs to the bed, his speech interrupted a few times by his lips softly kissing up my body, coming to a stop just below my ear.

My body composed itself again and I tried to worm my way out of his firm hold. But he didn't budge; of course he didn't. I'd gotten lucky enough to avoid rape once, why the hell did I think I could do it again? I was a small girl, standing at a height of 5'4" and weighing in at a whopping 110 pounds. He was already easily overpowering my meek attempts at fighting him.

"Shh, just lie back and keep quiet", he said, clamping his big hand over my mouth. It was a repeat of my other experience. He pulled a switchblade out of a breast pocket in his leather jacket, thrusting it into my face.

"You see this? If you're a bad girl, I won't hesitate to carve you up a bit, give you a few little scars to remember me by. You understand, darling?", he hissed, drawing the cold, metal point against my neck to show he wasn't fucking around.

When he lifted my arms over my head to pull off John's sweater, I made no attempt to break free, only complied with his every command. He didn't bother tying me up, he knew I was too scared to try anything funny while that knife was still in his possession. He finally put away the switchblade, raising his fists to let me know that he'd beat me with his bare hands if I made it hard for him to get what he wanted.

I laid there helplessly, my eyes staring blankly at the ceiling as tears dripped down the sides of my face. He cupped my breasts in his hands, rubbing my nipples between his fingers. I clenched my teeth together and decided to take the chance. I'd rather die than let him take advantage of me like this.

I let out an ear piercing scream as his eyes widened in disbelief. Disbelief soon turned to anger as he slapped me across the face, hard. My cheek stung but I didn't care. I just hoped the boys would come upstairs before Pete could make anymore moves.

"You fucking little bitch!", he roared, brandishing his switchblade at me, just inches from stabbing me in the chest when the door slammed open, banging against the wall as Paul surged in, taking in the situation. He immediately pounced on Pete before he could even turn around, knocking him to the floor and throwing punches at his face. George wasn't much of a fighter, but he joined in, pinning Pete to the ground as Paul took out his fury, leaving Pete with a blood-stained face.

I scrambled off the bed, pulling John's sweater over my head as if it were a suit of armour. I slumped back against the wall, feeling something warm trickling down my chin as I observed the horrendous beating that was taking place just feet from me. I wiped at my face, drawing my hand back to examine the liquid. Blood. The bastard had slapped me so hard he'd split my lip open. It was gushing everywhere, but it was the least of everyone's problems at the moment.

Paul and George drew back from Pete, giving me a clear view of his unconscious body. Paul stood over him, fists clenched and eyes burning with hatred. George backed away, coming to sit beside me as he put his arm around my shoulders. Apparently Pete had managed to sock him in the left eye; he was going to have one hell of a shiner. Otherwise, he looked fine. His hair was a bit ruffled and he looked spent but unwounded.

Paul, on the other hand, looked rough. His lip, like mine, was also split, he had a deep gash running down one side of his face and the skin on his knuckles was broken, allowing blood to slowly surface on his hands.

"What the fuck did he do to you?", Paul asked, his stony glare melting into concern as he focused his attention on me, still wrapped in George's embrace.

"I screamed before he could really do anything bad. Can you just get him out of here, please?", I muttered, looking at my feet.

Paul nodded and motioned to George to come help him. George slowly took his arm from around me and braced his hands against the floor, standing up. Together, they lifted Pete off the floor, carrying him to a destination unknown to me. I couldn't care less where they dropped him off, so long as I never had to come in contact with him ever again. I was just glad he hadn't gotten as far as the cop had, but I still felt violated.

I recounted the events that had just taken place, waiting for George and Paul to come back, when a pair of feet stopped in front of me. I looked up to find Paul, arms crossed, blood still trickling down his face as he surveyed me. He held out his hand and pulled me up, gathering me into his arms. I rested my head against his chest, winding my arms around his back tightly.

"Are you alright?", he asked, his warm breath coming into contact with my scalp with every word.

"I guess", I replied truthfully, unsure of exactly what I was feeling. Shock, anger, fear were somewhere in there, I suppose, waiting to be released in succession.

"Do you want to go downstairs? I'll get John over here", he offered, his hands gently stroking up and down my back.

"No, don't call him. I don't want to ruin his night, you know? When he gets back, we'll tell him", I insisted.

"I suppose you're right", he said, a little hesistant to obey my wishes.

I could see where he was coming from. I mean, if I were in his position I'd call John, too. Hell, I'd sprint over to Mimi's screaming, notifying him that his girl was nearly raped by one of his mates. On the other hand, if I were Paul I'd be scared out of my wits, awaiting John's return anxiously. I was afraid of what John would do once he found out. Being close to John came with a price: his temper. He wasn't exactly the most patient fellow, and when you got on his bad side, he'd explode, unleashing a fury so absolute you'd wish you had never been born.

Of course, he'd never physically done anything to me, but I'd experienced his savagery firsthand on several occasions. The first time was at school, when some poor bloke thought he could tease John a little. Nope, he got worked up and managed to send the kid to the emergency room and earn himself a one way ticket to the principal's office.

Paul led me by the hand downstairs, pulling me onto the couch with him and stroking my hair as I rested my head on his shoulder. George was nowhere to be found.

"Paulie, where's George?", I inquired softly, my eyes focused on a photo of a light haired girl, beaming on the front cover of the newspaper lying on the coffee table.

"He's gone to Mimi's", he answered, combing his fingers through my hair.

"What? Paul, why did you ask if I wanted John here if you already sent George over?", I fumed, sitting up and slamming my hands down on the cushion beside me.

"I didn't _ask _you. I told you he was coming. I said I would get him over here, remember?", he blurted, raising his palms in defense.

"Well, fuck", I stated simply, shrugging my shoulders and walking to the kitchen.

"You got any alcohol in here?", I called back, fishing through Paul's cupboards one by one, only to slam them shut when I couldn't find the aforementioned drink.

"Delilah, you know that's not a good idea", Paul warned, still lounging in the living room.

"Yeah, well fuck you, Paul", I muttered, finally hitting the jackpot as my eyes stole over a wide selection of rum, vodka, whiskey and some wine from 1956. Alright, I could make this work.

I chose my favorite, the three-quarters full bottle of Jack Daniel's. I snuck a quick glance back at Paul, who had turned his attention to the now-blaring television set, and unscrewed the cap, taking a large swig. The golden liquid blazed a trail down my throat, leaving fire in its wake with every second it passed further into my body. I hadn't had a good drink in ages, due mostly to the fact that everytime I went to a bar with the guys, they'd make me sip on a coke and rum as I blatantly refused to drink beer, limiting my intake to one alcoholic beverage per outing.

I had managed to down nearly half the bottle before I heard an emphatic "Delilah!" from Paul as my actions became known to him. I heard his footsteps pounding on the hardwood floor behind me and attempted to take in one last mouthful as he spun me around and snatched the bottle from my grasp, seemingly without much effort.

By then, I knew why it had been so easy for him to pluck the whiskey from my hands. I was wasted and my grip had been pretty loose on the glass neck of the bottle. Nevertheless, I was perturbed that he'd taken my only escape from me.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13: Oh! Darling

10:17 PM, June 5, 1962

Paul's POV

"C'mon, Paulie-Wally. Give 'er back to me", she slurred, stumbling towards me. I plunked the bottle down on the counter behind me and caught Delilah before she could take a nosedive to the floor.

"Delilah, you're drunk", I stated simply, sighing as the poor girl struggled to regain her balance. After seconds of watching her try to stand, I scooped her up, bridal style, and hauled her back to the living room. After turning off the T.V. with my foot, I shuffled to the couch closest to the front door and sunk back into the cushions, laying Delilah down so that her head rested on my lap.

She put a hand on my chest and stroked me thoughtfully, smiling up at me in a daze. I bit my lip and gave her an amused grin, petting her hair back from her face.

"Paulie, you are the most...most nicest guy I have _ever _met. Like, you don't even know. I just, wow, you're grrrrrreat", she giggled, before abruptly dropping her head, falling asleep.

What was I going to do with her? When John got back, he'd be furious that I'd let her get into my stash of booze. Oh well, I would just wait it out. It was quite relaxing, actually. Just sitting there, feeling her soft hair between my fingers as she slept peacefully.

I was thinking about how beautiful she was, even when she was passed out, when an all too familiar feeling crept into my chest. I'd had feelings for her for 5 years and just recently came to terms with reality. The reality was that she'd never be mine. These emotions, they couldn't resurface. I couldn't let it happen.

I was mortally afraid of this. She was John's girl, I couldn't have her. Yet I also couldn't help but feel a certain longing building in me as I observed her. I was in the middle of trying desperately to stamp out my emotions when the door burst open, revealing an infuriated John with Georgie's cautious face poking out from behind him.

"Where is he?", John demanded, not noticing Delilah draped across my legs.

"He ran off after we dragged him outside", I said, still twirling her dark hair around my fingers absentmindedly.

"Wha-", John started, but was cut off when his gaze landed on Delilah's sleeping figure. "What happened to her?", he asked, kneeling in front of me to stroke her cheek, examining her split lip.

"Well, after Georgie left, this little doll somehow managed to sneak a bit of my whiskey while I wasn't looking", I chuckled nervously. "She'll be alright, she'll just have a wicked hangover tomorrow".

John raised his head up to meet my eyes, almost asking my permission to take her. I nodded and untangled my fingers from her hair as he gathered her limp body into his arms. He was halfway up the stairs when he paused, looking back at George and I, his expression masked by the shadow that covered half of his face.

"Thank you", he said quietly, and continued up to his room, a soft click travelling down to the living room, confirming that he'd shut the door.

"I don't believe I've ever heard John say thank you, in all the years I've known him", George said in wonder, still staring at the spot John had been standing in just minutes ago.

"You know why that is, Georgie? It's 'cause he loves her; he actually cares about her", I said, trying to mask my disappointment.

Apparently I didn't do a very good job because George sat down and gave me a knowing smirk.

"_You _love her, don't you?", he stated the question as if it were a fact.

I couldn't argue, I _did _have feelings for her. Feelings that ran deep, though they hadn't resurfaced in years. Sure, I'd always felt something for Delilah, I just thought it was a silly crush. That "crush" had lasted for 5 years now, and I feared it was taking a turn into a whole other realm; past the boundaries of "like" and into the region of "love". But John had claimed her first. Just like everything else.

"Yes, George. I do", I sighed. "But you can't tell anyone, alright?", I added quickly, shooting him a warning look.

"Fine, fine", he surrendered, shrugging his shoulders, but still keeping that cocky grin on his face.

A long pause.

"So how long has it been, then?", George asked seriously, the devilish gleam in his eyes gone. He didn't have to say anything else; I knew exactly what he meant.

"Five years", I replied sheepishly.

"Shit. You _are _in love", he said, bewilderment flitting across his angular features.

"Oh, come off it, Georgie. I can't have her anyhow. And besides, what would you know about love? You're hardly a legal adult", I scoffed.

"I'll have you know that I am extremely wise for my age, Paulie dearest", he replied smoothly, making a goofy face at me in mock seriousness. I snickered and shook my head, standing up from the couch and crossing the space between us to ruffle George's hair.

"Well, I'm off to bed. Tomorrow's a big day, you know", I reminded him, winking. "Nighty night, Georgie boy".

"Yeah, yeah. Night then", he said, smoothing his hair down and jumping out of his chair, loping to the kitchen to raid my fridge, no doubt.

"Don't eat all my food, you bloody wanker", I shot back over my shoulder as I made my way to the staircase.

I recieved nothing but a slight grunt in response as George sat hunched over, digging through my food.

When I got to the top of the staircase, I heard something that sounded suspiciously like sobbing coming from the guest room where Delilah and John were staying. I took a deep breath and inched open the door, nearly tripping over John as I stepped into the room.

"John?", I whispered in disbelief. Was he crying? I'd never seen him cry.

He sprang up from the floor, covering my mouth before I could say anything else and backed me out of the room, shutting the door behind him softly. He swiped at the tears on his cheeks, a look of grief plastered to his face.

"John, what are you doing?", I asked, slightly taken aback by his unusual behaviour.

"Come outside with me", he replied, turning away without so much as another look at me before he disappeared down the stairs. I stood rooted the spot, totally shocked. What could possibly be making him cry?


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14: She Loves You

11:13 PM, June 5, 1962

John's POV

I traipsed silently down the stairs, knowing Paul would be following close behind soon enough. I'll admit, I had never cried in front of anyone except Delilah and Mimi until tonight. Which meant Paul was most likely stunned, wondering what the hell was wrong with me.

I felt my way through the darkness, coming to a stop when I found the front door. I stepped outside into the surprisingly chilly summer night and shivered in the luminescent glow of the moon. A crisp wind blew softly against my bare chest, causing my skin to erupt into a million miniscule goosebumps as I listened to the sweet jingling of windchimes. Lost in a pleasurable little world of simple beauty, I hadn't noticed Paul had joined me on the bench on his front porch. He was staring at me curiously.

What was I doing out here? Oh, right. I was crying and I needed to talk to Paul. Damn. I was having such a nice escape just a few seconds ago.

"Care to tell me why you were sobbing like a girl?", Paul teased, his mouth lifting into a half grin. If only he knew the half of it. He would know all of it soon enough.

"You really want to know?", I retorted, a bitter edge to my voice.

Just then Paul's face lost all humour as he took in my demeanor. My emotions were seeping through me. Through my voice, my body language, my eyes. He didn't say a word, only kept a grim expression, silently imploring me to continue.

"I'm not right for her. Not at all", I said, staring off into the darkness, watching a stray leaf dance across the pavement under the orange light of a lamp post in the breeze.

"What do you mean, John?", Paul asked.

"I mean everytime something bad has happened to her, I've never been there to bail her out of it, you know?", I replied truthfully, feeling an uncomfortable weight settling on my chest.

"John, that's not true. You saved her when she tried to kill herself. And that was the time she needed you most", Paul reasoned.

"Yeah, that was once, Paul. There have been several other times when her safety was in question. There was the first time, when her dad went nuts and tried to murder her. There was the other time when that cop tried to rape her, and now there was the time just tonight. When fucking _Pete _tried to rape her. I'm pretty sure all of those times were just as important", I trailed off in disgust, clenching my fists subconsciously.

"I don't think you understand, John. _You've saved her life_. Sure, you weren't there the other times when it was happening, but you were there after the matter to console her. And I think that counts for just as much, don't you?", Paul argued, trying to get me to see an invisible point.

"I dunno...I just feel like I've let her down", I admitted, clasping my hands together and biting my thumbnail.

"You haven't", Paul said as he put his hand on my shoulder. "If you'd truly let her down, she'd be dead right now".

I let his words sink in and tried to reason with myself. I knew Paul was trying to get me to see the good things I'd done for her, but deep down, both of us knew I was right. I _had _let her down a lot, and nothing was going to change that. Who was there to save her tonight? Paul. He didn't have any idea how I felt because he'd been there for her when she needed _me_.

He had been her substitute knight in shining armour while her designated protector was off having a nice tea party with his aunt. And I resented myself for that. She'd been attacked, gotten drunk afterward, and had been solaced by Paul. I'd carried her dormant body upstairs and hadn't even gotten the chance to speak to her.

"Paul...I know this might sound a bit twisted but...when I came back tonight and brought Delilah upstairs, I was hoping so badly that she'd wake up and start bawling her eyes out. You know why?", I paused for effect before continuing, not waiting for an answer from Paul. "Because I wanted to be there for her. I wanted to hold her in my arms while she cried. I wanted her to know that I'll always be there for her, no matter what. So, when she just continued to sleep, I felt like shattering right there. I just fell to the floor and cried".

"She loves you and she knows how much you love her. John, it doesn't make any difference to her whether or not you're there when that shit happens. She just cares if you're there for her afterward", Paul murmured, looking down at the ground with a forlorn look, hands resting on his knees.

"What's bothering you?", I asked, my attention suddenly captured by his expression.

"What? Nothing", Paul replied hastily, sitting up straight and raising his eyebrows.

I narrowed my eyes in doubt.

"You're lying, Paul. I've known you for a long time and I know that you're lying because whenever you aren't telling the truth, you rush your words and fiddle about with the hem of your shirt", I accused, pointing to his hands as they did exactly what I'd predicted.

He stole his hands away from his shirt, resting them on either side of his body on the wooden bench, shifting his weight uneasily. He knew I'd caught him and he was looking for a way out of the tight situation.

"C'mon, Macca. You're my best mate. You know you can tell me anything", I encouraged, using his nickname in an attempt to show him I wasn't going to laugh at whatever it was he was hiding.

"John, if I tell you, you'll probably knock me out", he muttered, looking at me sideways.

"What?", I laughed in confusion.

"I really can't tell you", he said, his gaze returning to his feet.

"Is it a girl, then?", I asked. "Because if it is, you know, you can have all those birds at the Cavern. I really love Delilah and I'm not going to risk losing her over some slut at a club".

"Alright, yeah. Yeah, that's it", Paul replied.

"Good. It's all settled then. You get the groupies", I said, chuckling at his apprehension.

Paul smiled at me as I patted his shoulder.

"Good night then", I stated, going back into the house.

"Night, John", Paul murmured, remaining on the bench.

I trotted upstairs, feeling a slight bit better than I had earlier and crept onto the bed, careful not to wake Delilah. As predicted, I failed. As soon as my arms went around her warm body, she jolted in surprise, letting out a little shriek.

"Johnny, why are you so cold?", she asked groggily as she shivered in my embrace.

"I was just out having a little chat with Paul, my love", I answered, hugging her to me, savoring her warmth against my frigid skin. She turned herself over and collapsed onto my chest, rubbing my arms tenderly as she kissed my neck. I melted at her touch and slid my hands down to her lower back, massaging her gently as I breathed in her sweet scent.

She sunk her face into the hollow of my shoulder as her breathing became deeper, leaving me to my thoughts as she slipped into the land of dreams. Not long after, I fell into a dreamless slumber.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15: From Me To You

7:26 AM, June 6, 1962

John's POV

"Delilahhh...wakey wakey, my little angel", I sang into Delilah's ear. She replied by turning over and smacking me in the face with her arm as she grumbled an incoherent response that sounded suspiciously like, "Fuck off".

"Aww come on, darling. It's time to wake up! We're leaving in an hour", I reminded her, choosing to ignore her vulgar words. I played with her hair as she mumbled another string of profanities into the pillow.

Suddenly, she shot up from the bed, swatting my hands away as she looked at me in annoyance. I smiled lovingly at her and brushed away a few strands of stray hair from her face. She glowered and shoved my hand away again, throwing her legs over the side of the bed.

"John, I'm not coming with you. So there was no need to wake me up at such an early fucking hour", she snapped.

"What's gotten into you, luv? It seems we've switched places this morning", I chuckled as she got up from the bed angrily. I gave her bum a few smacks in a lighthearted fashion and she stared back at me with ferocity for a few long seconds before promptly turning away and digging for clothes.

"I have to go to _work _and I have a hangover. Just great", she muttered to herself as she dropped everything and walked out of the room, leaving me amused.

Delilah's POV

I stormed down the hall to the bathroom, cursing myself for drinking the night before. I ripped the door open and stomped into the bathroom, turning on the shower and flinging what little clothes I was wearing to the ground. As soon as the water hit me I became lost in my own world, completely at ease and forgetting all about my hangover and work and how I'd nearly been raped by my "friend".

Ugh, Pete. What a disgusting prick. I pushed the thoughts away, happy that he hadn't gotten very far in his pursuit to defile me. I had just finished rinsing my hair out when I felt a pair of hands snake around my midsection.

I snapped my head around to find John, his lips all over my neck. I pushed his hands down, which only made matters worse. His fingers sowly crept down to my inner thighs as he continued softly sucking on my neck. I finally gave in, resting my head back onto his shoulder as he worked me with his fingers, hitting every sensitive spot in just the right way.

"John, I...mmm, I can't", I moaned, trying so desperately to resist only to find that it wasn't going to happen. We hadn't touched each other like this in awhile, being that I was usually too tired to do anything after work and just wanted to sleep.

"Shh, it's alright, baby. Don't fight me", he murmured, kissing my jawline gingerly.

My breathing sped up as I moaned, wanting more of him. He sensed my frustration and spun me around to face him, gripping my thighs as I linked my arms around his neck. He lifted me and pinned me to the wall, slowly inching his way in. My hold around his neck constricted and I gasped as he sheathed himself inside of me, clutching at my hips.

He groaned and pulled me closer, gently moving himself in and out. He gained speed and force, thrusting into me harder each time. I bit down on his shoulder to keep from crying out as my legs quivered and I came. His chest heaved as he forced into me one last time, his body becoming stiff as he moaned my name in bliss.

We stayed like that for a few minutes, just holding each other before he gently lowered me to the floor, turning off the now-cold water. I shivered and he drew back the curtain, tossing a towel at me and kissed me deeply.

"I love you", he purred, giving me one last look as he wrapped a towel around himself and exited the bathroom.

I remained in the same spot, stunned at what had just happened. We'd just had sex in Paul's shower and it wasn't even 8 o'clock yet. What the hell.

Finally regaining my composure, I hurriedly dried off and stuck my head out into the hallway, making sure no one was there. I didn't want to drag the damp towel along to my bedroom. So when I determined the coast to be clear, I made a beeline for the door at the very end of the hall. I smirked to myself, satisfied that I'd made it back without anyone noticing, until I heard a slight "Oh" from across the room. Expecting to see John, I turned seductively, only to find Paul gaping at me as he was bent over a stack of papers.

"Oh my _God_", he choked, frantically gathering the papers in his hands and looking down with a deep red blush.

I whipped my head around, desperately trying to find something to cover myself with. When I spotted John's discarded sweater from the previous night and threw it on.

"Delilah, look, I'm _really _sorry. John said I could come up here and grab our music before we left, so, you know, I just came up here. I honestly didn't know you were-", he blurted, coming to a stop as I silenced him with my hand.

"It's not a big deal, Paul, really. Just...let's just forget this ever happened, okay?", I pleaded, patting his arm awkwardly.

He nodded, gave me another apologetic look and hurriedly dashed out of the room, his footsteps pounding down the stairs.

Paul's POV

Oh. My. _God_. I had just seen Delilah naked. And she was beautiful. No. I couldn't think like that. I mentally smacked myself for thinking of her in that way.

"Paul, what's up? You look as though you've just seen a ghost", George remarked, staring back at me from the passenger seat of John's car. We were driving to London to record a song at Abbey Road Studios with our new producer, George Martin. Pete was going as well, since he was our only drummer, unfortunately. Though we made him find a way to get there himself.

The daft git had shown up at my house this morning after my "incident" with Delilah and had the audacity to pretend as though nothing had happened the night before. I'd slammed the door in his face, noting with pride that he looked rough. He had a black eye, bruises all up and down his face, and a nasty cut running straight through his left eyebrow. I'd done him in good, and God, I felt smug.

"Nothing, nothing", I shrugged, pretending to examine my nails.

George glanced at John, who was either too focused on the road or too lost in his own thoughts to notice our conversation. He turned back to me and wiggled his eyebrows.

"Come on, Paulie. I know you're hiding something. You've been staring off into space all morning and you've got a permanent blush on your cheeks. Something's definitely up", George commented, prodding me with his finger.

"Can we talk about this later, George?", I whined. "Now isn't exactly the time", I added between my teeth, motioning towards John.

"Ohhh, okay", George said, winking dramatically as I shook my head, bringing my palms to my face.

I sunk deeper into the backseat, my mind wandering off to Delilah again. Meanwhile, George twisted himself back in his seat so that he was facing the front of the car again and pulled a sandwich out of nowhere.

Typical George.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16: Some Other Guy

9:36 PM, June 6, 1962

Delilah's POV

The boys had gotten back from London about a half hour before my shift ended, so they ordered Chinese takeout and surprised me by picking me up from work. We'd gone back to Paul's house and were eating a long overdue supper.

"So...Pete's not in the band anymore", Paul stated, breaking the silence.

"Really, now?", I mused, more interested in my noodles than engaging in a conversation about _that _pig.

"Yeah. Our producer basically said he wasn't good enough. I heard him say something about that Richard Starkey guy. You know, the drummer for Rory Storm and the Hurricanes", Paul continued, oblivious to my eagerness to change subjects.

"Hmm, yeah I know Ritchie. He's a real sweetheart", I replied, genuinely happy that they'd be considering Ritchie to be their drummer. I was hugely fond of him; we'd gone to high school together and had been close friends.

"Yeah", Paul agreed, blushing and lowering his eyes when I looked at him.

That was basically how the rest of the conversation went between Paul and I. Paul had been acting really strange around me since this morning. I couldn't blame him, though. I was sure I'd nearly given him a heart attack when I burst in, completely nude. He'd been stealing furtive glances at me all night. George and John didn't say a word throughout, probably due to the fact that the tension in the room was so thick you'd have to chop it apart with an axe to break it.

Paul's POV

I couldn't help but steal quick peeks at Delilah. I knew she noticed but I just couldn't take my eyes off of her. I wanted to talk to her without John or George, but didn't know when the opportunity would arise. Speaking of John and George, they were being awfully quiet. Without John's smartass remarks thrown in every two seconds, the conversation was getting a bit awkward between Delilah and I. Was it so obvious that I kept looking at her?

John's POV

I didn't know what was going on with Paul, but he'd been acting out of the ordinary all day. The only time he'd seemed relatively normal was when we were at the studio. Even then, it was short lived. I noticed him and Delilah exchanging odd looks back and forth but didn't say anything. Whatever was going on between them wasn't my business. Maybe they were in some sort of disagreement? Either way, I decided it would be best to pay extra attention to my food.

George's POV

Sure, the atmosphere of the room wasn't exactly comfortable, but who really cared? Those noodles were fucking fantastic. Best I've had in awhile. I made a mental note to remember the name of the restaurant for future reference. Today had turned out alright, in my opinion. The recording session had gone well and we'd managed to finish our first real song, "Love Me Do".

A clever title, if you ask me. If you rearranged the words, you could form a different name: Do Me, Love. I snickered at this and received peculiar looks from the others, who seemed to be in wretched moods. I shrugged and returned to my delicious noodles, unaware of the fight that was about to ensue. A fight that concerned the thing that had been bothering Paul this morning.

I'd pestered Paul about it until he gave in while John was outside having a smoke earlier in the day. He told me he'd seen Delilah naked! I'd laughed and teased him about it, asking how he'd managed to score her. He replied with a well deserved punch in the face and told me it wasn't like that at all.

And now, here we were; with Paul about to open his stupid trap.

John's POV

"John, can I talk to you for a second?", Paul asked, setting his nearly untouched food on the coffee table.

"Alrighty", I said, patting Delilah's knee and following Paul into the kitchen.

He glanced around nervously and looked down at his hands.

"Say there's a girl you love, but she's with your best mate. What would you do?", he asked, not looking at me once.

"Well personally, I'd take her anyway. If I love her, then I've got to have her. Is this about who I think it's about?", I inquired, dropping my voice and peering into the living room to find Delilah and George on the floor, laughing hysterically at something.

"I guess that depends on who you think it is", Paul replied as he scratched his neck anxiously.

"You know who I'm talking about", I said, feeling blood rush to my face in anger.

"No, I actually don't", Paul shot back.

"Delilah", I said, cutting to the point before anymore nonsense could ensue.

"Psshh, what? Delilah? _Me_, love _Delilah_? No. No, I'm talking about that girl Georgie's always with. You know...", he trailed off, desperately searching the recesses of his mind to remember her name.

"You don't even know her name! It's Delilah, I know it is. And she's mine. So you'll stay the fuck away from her, if you know what's good for you!", I said, my voice dangerously close to rising above a furious whisper.

Paul stared at me, disheartened, opening and closing his mouth like a fish as he tried to form an argument.

"Paul, I'm serious. If you so much as touch her, I'll break your fucking neck", I threatened, wagging my finger in his face.

"Alright, okay. So maybe I have a bit of a crush on her! I haven't tried to put any moves on her so just simmer down, Lennon", Paul admitted, attempting to calm me down.

"I'm not fucking around", I said as I pushed past him, signalling the end of our conversation.

I trudged back into the living room, sitting as close to Delilah as possible and wrapping my arm around her waist as she looked at me curiously. George raised an eyebrow as Paul lumbered back to his chair and pleaded to me with his eyes. I was going to make his life hell, from now on. He needed to get it through his thick skull that he wasn't going to have her.

I put both arms around Delilah and moved her onto my lap, stroking her hips as she tried to wriggle free of my grasp.

"John, what are you-", she protested, but I didn't give her a chance to finish. I crushed my lips to hers and slid my tongue into her mouth as she attempted to push me away.

I held her tighter, lifting her dress to make sure Paul got a nice view of what he couldn't have. She slapped my hands away and bit my tongue when I didn't stop. I pulled back in pain, still grasping her waist feverishly.

"What's gotten into you, John? I don't want to do this in front of George and Paul, okay?", she hissed, scrunching her eyebrows together as she glared at me. I looked over at Paul and smirked. George was off in the kitchen, as per usual, avoiding the situation.

"Aww, come on, don't be a prude. But if you want some alone time, well, that can be arranged", I replied slyly, winking at her.

"John, don't", she warned as I picked her up, throwing her over my shoulder. By now, her short dress was nearly up to her hips and she pounded on my back, demanding I let her go. I ignored her and held on tighter as I flashed a mocking smile at Paul, who looked wounded.

Delilah knew I wasn't going to give up, so she just hung there, finally accepting what was coming to her. I gave Paul one more smug look as I slapped her exposed bum and made my way upstairs to give her all my loving.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17: You've Got To Hide Your Love Away

11:45 PM, June 6, 1962

Paul's POV

George had left forty minutes ago, so I'd forced myself to retire to bed, even though I couldn't have slept if I tried. I cursed myself for offering John and Delilah the room directly next to mine. Not that it mattered, I'm sure the whole neighborhood could hear them.

All I'd been hearing for the last half hour was Delilah whimpering while John did who knows what to her, groaning and shouting her name. The bed pounded against the wall, making me close my eyes in disgust, hoping he'd run out of energy soon.

I couldn't help but yearn to be in John's position. I listened to Delilah moaning and imagined what I could be doing to her; I was sure I could make her scream, make her toes curl, make her leave red scratches all up and down my back. My desire to make love to her was overwhelming and I found myself looking down at the quickly tenting sheets in irritation, desperately wishing I hadn't let my mind wander to all the naughty things I wanted to do to the girl separated from me by a wall.

Seeing no other way out, I moved my hand under the blanket, taking hold of the most sensitive part of my body, gasping quietly.

John's POV

It wasn't so much that I wanted to fuck her tonight as it was I wanted to prove a point to my dear friend, Paul. I saw the way he looked at her. He was jealous and I wanted to make sure he suffered. So I did the only thing I could think of that would absolutely torture him.

I brought her upstairs and flopped her down onto the bed, never once taking my eyes off of her as I tossed aside my clothes. The whole time she'd just glared at me.

When I'd started to slip her panties down her thighs, she crossed her arms and said pointedly, "John Lennon, if you think you're getting into my pants tonight, you're wrong".

I'd replied with a smooth, "I'm not getting into your pants, my love. I'm getting into your dress".

"Seriously, though. Why are you doing this?", she asked as I tugged her dress over her head.

"I just want to make love to you. Is that such a crime?", I questioned. She merely shrugged and let me get on top of her.

"Just...", she sighed, putting her hands on my chest as I bent down to kiss her neck. "Just don't do it too hard, Johnny. I don't want to bother Paul, okay? That would be really embarrassing", she finished, a cute blush spreading onto her face.

At the mention of his name, I made my decision. I'd make her scream and beg for more; I'd make sure Paul could hear her nice and clear. But I just nodded solemnly, pecking her lips before starting my descent down her body.

She resisted for a few minutes, but surrendered as my mouth came into contact with her opening. She arched her back and whimpered, squeezing me with her legs. I kept going for longer than she thought was necessary, and soon had her so worked up that she really _was _begging for me to stop fooling around and get inside of her. I teased her for awhile more, until I couldn't stand it any longer, myself.

God, she wailed. I _knew_ Paul had heard her, and I smiled in satisfaction to myself when all was said and done, and Delilah was sleeping peacefully in my arms.

Paul's POV

Everything went quiet at around 1:45. How fucking long did it take to have sex? Apparently two and a half hours for John. That bastard. I knew he was determined to drive me crazy, and I mentally slapped myself over and over for even mentioning anything to him. I should've just kept my mouth shut and admired Delilah from afar without anyone knowing but George. I fell into a restless sleep full of dreams of Delilah.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18: We Can Work It Out

5:34 PM, November 6, 1962

Delilah's POV

The Beatles had released their first single in early October, and it was quickly becoming a huge hit. Everytime we were driving somewhere and heard "Love Me Do" on the radio, we'd sing along and cheer. I was extremely proud of my boys. A new member had been added to our gang on account of him also becoming a new member of the band. Richard Starkey. Nearly everyone called him Ringo, though I wasn't used to the nickname at first. Eventually, I caved and started calling him Ringo as well. It was nice having a new person to talk to.

And when things got out of hand between John and Paul, Ringo was there to lighten the situation, acting as a sort of peacekeeper. Ever since June, John had been acting out of sorts. He was extremely overprotective of me and seemed to have taken a strong disliking to Paul.

Things had been moderately uncomfortable for the first few months, but had gradually gotten worse as autumn approached. Everything band-related was going great; actually, better than great. But when it came to personal matters, John would get along great with everyone except Paul.

We were sitting in a quaint little diner, the only conversation present was between George, John and Ringo. They'd attempted to drag me into their conversation a few times, but I'd just nod or return their remarks with one-word responses, thus making them label me as hopeless.

Paul had spent the majority of the evening slumped over in the corner of the booth, staring out the window sulkily as a steady downpour overtook Liverpool. Occasionally, he'd sneak a glance at me, but I never once took my eyes off of him. Noticing this, he ceased to meet my gaze for fear of John seeing and going absolutely nuts. It was ridiculous, and I was getting fed up.

"John", I said loudly, breaking up the light banter between the three boys. George raised an eyebrow, but turned his attention to his milkshake, suddenly finding it extremely interesting and Ringo started pulling off his rings one by one, examining them closely.

"Yes, my love?", John replied, resting his hand on my thigh and rubbing slowly.

"Can we talk?", I asked in an obviously perturbed tone.

"I dunno, luv. My voice seems to be working alright, is something wrong with yours?", he teased, walking his fingers up my arm.

"John, stop fucking around. I'm serious. You, me, outside. _Now_", I growled between clenched teeth, shoving his hand away.

His eyes widened and he rose from the booth, wordlessly waiting for me to lead the way. I snuck a fleeting look back at Paul, George and Ringo who were looking anywhere but at John and I.

My eyes searched the diner for a private place to converse, but figured my best bet would be to suck it up and just step outside into the rain, as originally planned. I stormed out of the restaurant, John trailing behind me. As soon as we stepped foot outside, I leaned against the side of the building and crossed my arms.

"Now what could possibly be so important that you'd have to drag me out into this bloody storm?", John asked, shoving his hands into his pockets, tilting his head to one side as he searched my eyes.

"I want to know what's been going on between you and Paul for the past 4 months. You treat him like a fucking pariah! You punched him in the _face_ last week because he told me I looked nice! John, I don't know what your problem is but if you keep acting like this...well...I won't want to be with you anymore", I looked down, studying the deep cracks in the sidewalk as the rain pelted down on us.

"Listen, I...", he stopped then, sighing and shaking his head. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to find the right words. "Paul told me he 'has feelings' for you", he continued, air quoting dramatically.

"I told him to stay away from you, that's all. And he just can't seem to get that through his head, you know? You're mine and I want him to back off. Is that so hard to understand?", he said gently, gripping my shoulders.

"So what if Paul has a crush on me? I'm with _you_. I love you", I retorted. Then it hit me. I knew exactly why he was acting like I was some precious jewel and Paul was a thief. "You're scared, aren't you? You think I'll leave you".

He gawked at me, recomposing himself in an instant and replacing his previous expression with a smirk.

"_No_", he shook his head as if to say 'duh'. "I just want Paul to know that you're off limits and that he should seriously reconsider his options. There are loads of girls throwing themselves at him everyday and he decides to choose _you_?", he scoffed.

My gut twisted as I took in his heartwrenching words.

"What are you saying, John? That I'm not a first choice?", I spat, wounded as the intensity of the rain increased. As if on cue, thunder rolled across the sky as my sentence ended.

"Baby, you know what I mean", John said, carressing my cheek as the realization of what he just insinuated dawned on him.

"No, actually I don't. Care to explain further?", I replied, glaring at him.

"Come on, Delilah", he sighed, trying to meet my gaze. I kept my eyes fixed on his chest, arms still crossed.

"What? _What_, John", I barked, meeting his pleading eyes with my own rage. "Am I not good enough for you? Am I your last resort?".

"I've always loved you. From the very start. And I'll continue loving you. If I didn't truly love you, I wouldn't be here right now", he replied so quietly, I almost didn't hear him over the deep thunder blaring overhead.

There was silence between us as his words seeped through my brain, echoing around my head. I wasn't finished, no not at all; but I resolved to let it drop until we were in a less public area.

"Now let's get back home, alright? I don't want you catching a cold", he said, shrugging off his jacket and putting it around me as he led me back to his car. I thought it was rather pointless of him to do, since I was already soaked to the bone.

I hopped into the backseat and waited while John ran back into the diner to fetch the others. Apparently John wasn't being as wary of Paul as before, since I got to experience the luxury of being squished between him and Ringo on the drive back. George sat in the front, as Paul still wasn't on the greatest terms with John.

I tottered along behind John as we strolled up the front walk of Paul's house. Yes, we were still sharing a residence with Paul, and George and Ringo had moved in as well just last month. It was quite the hectic living situation, though I didn't mind it too much.

"Wait", I whispered, catching John by the arm before he could follow the other three into the kitchen.

"What now, Delilah? I thought we were over this", he sighed, visibly annoyed.

"John, this is far from over", I laughed without humour.

"Can we just do this later? Please?", he pleaded, running a hand over his face.

"I don't know, John. _Can _we?", I mocked, using his earlier statement against him.

"Don't", he warned, sounding worn out.

"Don't what?", I pushed, prodding his chest.

"You know exactly what. Either you can stop being a bitch or you can just leave me alone, Delilah. What did I do wrong? I apologized to you for everything I've done to Paul", John responded, his weariness being replaced by aggravation.

"You apologized for nothing. You told me that you loved me and that was it", I accused, heat rising to my cheeks.

"Okay, so maybe I didn't say sorry. But then again, why should I apologize if I don't mean it?", he shot back.

I stood rooted to the spot, disbelief shadowing my face.

"Remind me again why I chose you. Because I really don't see how I could have ever loved you. You're a fucking swine, John Lennon", I spat.

Now it was his turn to look stunned. Hurt filled his eyes as I pierced him with a stony glare, flipping him the bird as I pushed past him. I didn't get very far, because he regained his composure and clutched at my arm desperately.

"Delilah, I'm sorry. If it means getting to keep you, I'll call this whole thing off right now. I'll say sorry to Paul and we'll just forget this ever happened. Please", John implored, voice dripping with regret.

I rubbed my forehead and weighed my options. I could comply with John's request or I could blow him off and risk losing our relationship. Then again, our relationship had been reduced to something pitiful, as of late. We'd had plenty of complications before, but this one was up there in the rankings of top 5 worst road blocks. We desperately needed to patch things up.

"Okay. But you've really got to stop doing that", I demanded.

"Stop doing what?", he inquired, reaching out to envelope me in a tight embrace.

"Stop acting like I'm your property. And I take back what I said. I love you", I stated, burying my face into his chest. Cinnamon and cigarrettes. He always smelled like cinnamon and tobacco, and it drove me insane.

"I love you, too. And I call you mine because I can't stand the thought of sharing you with anyone else", he murmured into my hair, stroking my sides.

Little did I know, Paul was hovering in the doorway of the kitchen, watching the whole scene unfold and come to a close, crushed. I only caught a glimpse of his face as he bolted from the room, slamming the back door behind him as he fled off to who knows where. Despite my recent reconciliation with John, I couldn't help but feel a small spark ignite in my chest as I witnessed Paul fleeing the scene in despair.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19: If I Fell

6:13 PM, November 12, 1962

Paul's POV

The minute we stepped foot in that diner, I knew there would be trouble. Delilah had pointedly ignored John's erratic behaviour since our fallout began, but lately she'd try to corner me and talk. I'd always tell her it wasn't a good time and run off to do something completely irrelevant and useless to avoid potentially getting caught by John. The whole thing was ridiculous; I couldn't so much as _look _at her without him exploding. He was out of control.

When we got back to my house, George and Ringo wandered down to the basement to work on a new song. I had my foot poised, ready to jog down the stairs to our band practice, when I heard John speaking, clearly irritated. I paused, one foot balancing precariously over the first step, hand resting on the banister. I knew John would strangle me if he found out I was eavesdropping, but I couldn't resist the temptation.

So, I backed myself into the kitchen, pressing myself against the wall to listen in.

"Don't", John sighed, sounding tired.

"Don't what?", Delilah retorted.

"You know exactly what. Either you can stop being a bitch or you can just leave me alone, Delilah. What did I do wrong? I apologized to you for everything I've done to Paul", John said, his temper slowly edging into his voice.

"You apologized for nothing. You told me that you loved me and that was it", she replied in a dangerously low voice.

"Okay, so maybe I didn't say sorry. But then again, why should I apologize if I don't mean it?", he shot back.

There was silence then. I pictured Delilah looking as stunned as I felt. Surely, he was a little sorry for giving me a black eye last week?

"Remind me again why I chose you. Because I really don't see how I could have ever loved you. You're a fucking swine, John Lennon", Delilah growled after a lengthy pause.

Silence again. I wasn't sure what was happening, but I wasn't exactly feeling brave enough to poke my head round the corner and risk being spotted.

"Delilah, I'm sorry. If it means getting to keep you, I'll call this whole thing off right now. I'll say sorry to Paul and we'll just forget this ever happened. Please", John implored, voice dripping with regret.

More silence. I could practically see John on his knees, pathetically reaching out to Delilah as he pleaded with her.

"Okay. But you've really got to stop doing that", she said.

"Stop doing what?", he inquired, honestly curious as to what she meant.

"Stop acting like I'm your property. And I take back what I said. I love you", she relented, her voice muffled. I couldn't take it anymore. I cautiously peered around the corner, only to be met with a sight I really didn't need to see. He held in her in a vise-like grip, an expression on his face I'd never seen before; pure love. He held her the way I wanted to. I'll admit, at one point in my life I'd thought John Lennon was incapable of loving.

"I love you, too. And I call you mine because I can't stand the thought of sharing you with anyone else", he murmured into her hair, running his filthy hands all up and down her body.

I ran off then, not knowing or caring where I was going as I tore the kitchen door open, bursting out into the maturing storm. A voice inside was warning me that I was putting my life at risk, being out here. But another louder, angrier voice drove me on. I jogged around the side of the house, into the empty street. Not a single soul was to be seen; they were all quite aware of the fact that this would be the single deadliest storm of the year.

I pounded down the road, my feet leading the way as my brain switched off, stuck replaying the scene I'd just witnessed. If it had been anyone but Delilah, I wouldn't have flinched. Hell, I wouldn't have been the least bit interested in sticking around to watch the drama ensue. I wanted her so badly and to see John loving her and her loving him back was enough to send me over the edge.

"Paul!", Delilah called from behind me.

Wait, what? I faltered just long enough for the toe of my left shoe to catch on the uneven pavement. I fell to the ground in slow motion, my arms reaching out in front of me, grabbing desperately at the air to try to latch onto invisible purchase. First, my knees scraped across the sharp, rocky surface, drawing blood. I didn't feel the rest quite as much as my head struck the road with a sick, resounding crack. The world slipped away from me, giving way to delusional, painful dreams of Delilah.

The dreams were all the same. I'd run after her, following her into a dense forest. She'd turn around, grinning at me sweetly as she wrapped her arms around my neck. I'd take her into my arms and lean down for a kiss. As soon as I was about to touch her lips, the whole thing would start over; me, chasing her into the forest.

Delilah's POV

The level of sympathy I was feeling for Paul was overwhelming. Also included in the mix was guilt. Guilt at not doing anything about the John and Paul situation for months, even though things had gotten physical between them a long time ago. So I did exactly what I felt I should do; I chased after Paul.

I tore myself away from John and sprinted out the front door, hoping to hell that Paul had stayed on the street. I barely had time to take in the heavy, black clouds swirling overhead before I spotted him, running madly down the road.

"Delilah, what are you doing?", John called after me as I awkwardly half-stumbled, half-ran down the street, cursing myself for choosing today to wear heels.

Realizing the fact that I'd never catch up to Paul, I yelled his name in the hopes that he'd hear me and come back. Instead, he hesitated, causing him to go flying, skidding across the pavement. My mouth dropped in panic and I closed the thirty or so feet between us, dropping to my knees as I reached him.

His eyes were closed and the side of his face looked as though- well, it looked as though he'd just scraped his face along the sidewalk. I gingerly touched the bloody skin, biting my lip as my mouth trembled, trying to hold back my tears. Was he dead? I automatically swooped down to his chest, relief washing over me as I heard his steady breathing.

"John!", I managed to strangle out, my throat feeling parched as tears built up behind my closed eyes. I bent down over Paul protectively, crying into his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Paulie. I'm sorry", I choked, kissing the unwounded part of his face as John appeared beside me, nearly out of breath.

Paul's POV

"Paulie?", she gasped as I opened my eyes. She was hunched over me, her warm, smooth hand carressing my cheek.

I smiled dreamily up at her angelic face, wondering if I had died and gone to heaven.

"What happened?", I asked her, suddenly becoming all too aware of a sharp throbbing in my head. I honestly couldn't recall how I'd gotten to my bedroom or why I was hurting all over.

"Well...you took off running down the road and I called out to you. That's when you fell. You basically slid across the road and blacked out. I'm really sorry, honey", she whispered, remorse showing in her eyes.

"Wait. Wh-", I asked, totally confused. Then the memories rushed back. John and Delilah fighting and making up in my living room, me running out as the sky faded to a dark grey. Delilah yelling my name as I bit the pavement.

"Oh. No, don't be sorry. It's not your fault", I assured her, smiling despite the burning pain it caused.

"Paul...that's not what I meant. I'm sorry for what's been going on since June. For just standing by and doing nothing. John...John, he's a...", she paused then, searching for the perfect word to describe him. "He's a bit of a dick at times. Really", she finished, chuckling.

I wholeheartedly agreed. He _was _a dick.

"And I guess sometimes he just gets carried away, you know?", she continued, toying with the edge of my blanket.

"He told me he feels bad and wanted to apologize once you'd woken up", she added quietly, still looking down.

"We both know that's only half true", I spoke up.

She met my gaze and nodded sadly, giving me a bittersweet smile as I rested my hand on top of hers.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20: Honey Pie

11:23 PM, November 12, 1964

Paul's POV

It had been exactly 2 years since the day John and I made up. He'd offered me a sincere apology, and we were just the same as before. Our band finally came upon a foothold in popular music. We even had a movie out, which had been released in June earlier that year. The fame was exhausting. We'd constantly find ourselves on the run from crazed teenage girls who all claimed to be our "Number 1 fan". They all leaned over the barriers at the concert halls, tears cascading down their screaming faces as they professed their love for us in the form of wild howling.

Though I empathized for the rest of the band and our roadies alike, the person I felt the most sympathy for was Delilah. I was still in love with her, and rarely would I find my attention drawn away from thoughts of her. At the beginning of every concert, I'd look for a girl who resembled Delilah the most, and I would sing to her, imagining she was the sweet girl sitting back home, working.

For the first few months, John would call her every night, asking her how her day was and telling her how much he missed and loved her. Then he'd hand off the phone to the rest of us, one by one. But as the months passed by, John's calls became less frequent, eventually stopping completely. By that point, I'd taken it upon myself to call her whenever the opportunity presented itself.

I sensed she was lonely and worried, though she never admitted or even hinted at it. Whenever I asked her how she was doing, she'd give me a one word reply and swiftly change the subject back to me. It was frustrating, watching John flirt with other girls and not being able to tell Delilah about it; I had no proof and he wasn't directly cheating on her; that is, until the last night of our tour.

We arrived back in Liverpool without so much as a word uttered between us about John's affair the night before. We all knew he was anxious to see Delilah and was obviously guilt-ridden. And I honestly wasn't sure how to feel. On one hand, I loved watching him writhe nervously, never focusing on one sole thing, always twiddling his thumbs or glancing around. And on the other hand, I felt a stabbing pain in my chest as I imagined how Delilah would react.

I even felt a tiny bit of understanding and pity for John; there were a lot, and I mean _a lot _of gorgeous women practically attacking us whenever possible. But that wasn't a reason for John to betray the woman he'd loved for 7 years...the same woman _I'd _loved for 7 years.

I edged up the walkway of my house, turning to the others and putting my finger to my lips to quiet them. They fell silent, Ringo and George giving me mischevious grins as John moped along, clearly stressed. I opened the door quietly and snuck up behind Delilah, who was in the kitchen downing straight vodka. Oh, no. Had she somehow found out about John and was now drowning her sorrows?

Fuck.

"Delilah", I called softly.

She spun around swiftly, clutching the bottle to her chest as if it were a baby, her eyes wide with surprise.

"Hmm...hey guys", she said sheepishly, indiscreetly placing the bottle behind her on the counter. "I was just, uh, making sure your vodka didn't go bad", she laughed nervously, tapping the glass lightly.

"It's alcohol, luv. It doesn't go bad", George noted. She scrunched up her eyes and muttered something incoherent before hastily shoving the bottle back in the cupboard.

"So...how was the tour?", she inquired cheerily, pushing herself onto the counter and beaming at us as if nothing had happened.

"Oh, it was great! I mean, there were girls _everywhere _going absolutely raving mad, but I mean, who's to complain? Most of 'em were pretty easy on the eyes, you know. Our flight was even delayed because we were trapped in our hotel last night; there were birds banging on the windows and doors and I thought the glass was gonna break!", Ringo chattered enthusiastically. "Oh and you should've seen the girl John took ba-", Ringo was cut off by John slapping his hand over his mouth.

_Great_, I thought. Delilah slumped against the fridge, narrowing her eyes at John.

"Let's have a chat upstairs, _sweetie_", she said in a fake cheery voice, hopping off the counter and roughly grabbing John's arm, leading him upstairs.

"What the fuck, Ringo! I thought we agreed that _I _was going to tell her when John went out tonight", I fumed, staring crossly at a stunned Ringo. George had his eyebrows raised in a _'really_?' expression and I shook my head. I shouldn't be mad at Ringo.

"Sorry, Rings. It's not your fault", I sighed, new anger forming in my chest at John's stupid actions.

"Quite alright", he assured me. "What do you think she's gonna do to him?", he asked, slightly amused.

"Oh, I dunno. Probably throw him out for the night", I scoffed.

We were in the middle of betting how long their conflict would last, when John ran out the front door, his descent followed by Delilah's indignant string of curses. I rolled my eyes at George and Ringo, turning away to deal with the hurricane that was Delilah.

"Delilah, honey?", I ventured, closing the space between us and brushing her arm lightly as I sat down beside her. She sat slouched against the wall, her dark hair hiding her face.

"I'm sorry, darling. I was going to tell you later tonight, but I guess Ritch beat me to it", I muttered, afraid that she'd crumble if I touched her.

"It's alright. I was bound to find out either way. It's better I found out earlier, anyways", she said, surprisingly calm.

"I know this is a...really tough time for you. So, if you need anything...I'm right here", I offered. She didn't respond and I was beginning to wonder if she'd become lost in her thoughts when she let out a strangled little cry and threw her arms around my neck.

I nearly fell over from the force, but caught myself and hugged her back, petting her hair as the damp spot on my shirt grew. She must've cried for nearly an hour before I picked her up and gently set her sleeping body down on the bed, turning away and creeping to my bedroom.

All the lights were off, so I assumed George and Ringo had gone to bed awhile ago and flopped onto my bed, wondering how I was going to help her cope. Delilah had been right. John Lennon _was _a fucking swine.

Lost in my thoughts of loathing, I hadn't realized someone was in my room. I flipped on my bedside lamp, wondering who in the hell was bothering me at this time of night. It was Delilah.

"What's wrong? Bad dream?", I asked, taking in her dishelved form.

"This might sound weird, but...can I sleep with you tonight?", she asked, ducking her head in embarrassment as she blushed.

My mouth dropped and I had to bite my lip to keep from smiling.

"Of course you can. Don't worry, I won't try anything on you, alright?", I assured her as she gingerly stepped over to my bed.

"Do you, uh, want to borrow something more comfortable?", I asked, noticing she was still wearing her tight purple dress that I loved so much; it didn't exactly look like the most comfortable thing in the world, but it hugged her curves perfectly.

She nodded and sat on the edge of my bed awkwardly, combing her fingers through her curls as I sifted through my closet for a shirt. I finally pulled out a white dress shirt; one of many that had become standard for the whole band. It seemed we had a dress code; black suits with white shirts, black ties and black boots. That was basically my whole wardrobe now, aside from a few pairs of jeans and some tight fitting t-shirts from my earlier years with the band.

"I won't look while you change", I said, placing the shirt in her hands as she muttered a thank you.

"Could you just unzip me, please? I can't do it", she admitted, biting her lip as she lifted her hair out of the way, gesturing to the zipper on the back of her dress.

Could this night get any better? I hid a coy smile and slowly unzipped her dress, exposing her pale back. I resisted the urge to touch her and stared at the wall while she changed, listening to the slight rustling of her clothes hitting the floor.

After a long pause, I turned back to find her clambering onto my bed, the shirt riding up just enough to expose most of her thigh. I stared at her longingly and made my way back to her, turning off the light as I sank into the sheets, heat radiating from her body.

"Thank you, Paulie", she murmured sweetly, surprising me by snuggling up to my side and giving me a kiss on the cheek. I practically melted, snaking an arm around her soft body to settle on her waist.

"Delilah, I've been wanting to tell you something for a long time", I whispered into the darkness, feeling brave.

"Yes?", she prompted.

"I...this probably isn't the best time to tell you, since...well, since what happened earlier...", I trailed off, unsure.

"No, it's alright. You can tell me", she encouraged, tracing her fingers across my chest delicately, making my heart flutter.

"I love you", I confessed, holding my breath in anticipation.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21: A Taste Of Honey

1:56 AM, November 13, 1964

Delilah's POV

"I love you".

"What?", I dreamily giggled, unsure if I'd heard Paul correctly or if it was just my sleep-ridden imagination.

"Delilah, I'm serious. I love you", he tried again, more persistent with his tone.

I stopped smiling and was brought out of my hazy state by the ever present solemnity bursting from Paul's voice.

"Okay", I muttered, taken completely by surprise at his words.

"It's alright, you don't have to say it back. In fact, I don't expect you to, after what you went through earlier", he said, moving away from me as it became apparent to him that I wasn't sharing his feelings.

"It's not that I _don't_...it's just that I'm really not sure what to think right now. I'm still partially in shock from what happened with John, to be honest. But Paul, I've sort of had a neverending crush on you since 1960, so I guess...I don't know, I guess that makes things a little less awkward between us, right?", I said, taking his hand in mine to show him I wasn't revolted by his words.

"Delilah, you can't just throw John away like that. He honestly loves you and he feels horrible for what he did. Really", Paul said, polishing off his speech with a soft kiss to my hand.

"Why are you doing this? You just said you love me and now you're trying to convince me to go back to the guy who just cheated on me?", I asked in confusion.

"I'm just saying that you shouldn't rush things. I know you love him. You can't deny that. And it may not seem like it now, but you'll end up going back to him...I just don't want to get in the way of that", he said morosely.

"Then why did you tell me?", I murmured, referring to his proclomation of love for me.

"Because I've been hiding my feelings since I met you. I watched from the sidelines for 7 long years and tonight I felt like I finally had the perfect chance to just admit how strongly I feel about you. I didn't need you to say it back, I just needed you to know", he conceded.

"I'm glad you told me", I stated honestly.

Paul's POV

I turned onto my side to face her and gingerly cupped her face, leaning down to kiss her. Our lips met and fireworks went off in my head. Every nerve ending was awoken and a strong tingling sensation reverberated throughout my body, down to my toes. I was flying.

She moaned timidly, sending shivers down my spine as my hands skimmed under the hem of her borrowed shirt, ascending to her ribcage. She wrapped her legs around my waist and I took that as a sign to continue, so I kept going, finally reaching her breasts and giving them an affectionate squeeze. Her hands travelled through my shaggy hair as she arched her back in response to my tongue gliding into her mouth.

"Paul", she panted, breaking our kiss.

"Mmm?", I grunted, my mouth preoccupied with nuzzling her neck.

"I can't do this", she panicked, placing her hands on my chest and gently shoving me away. I leaned over her, supported by my forearms and sighed with a twinge of remorse.

"Trust me, I really want to, but I feel like I'm stooping to John's level. Then again, I think John and I should take a break", she mumbled. "Did you feel that?".

"What, the sparks going off in my body? Yeah", I replied.

"So...should we kiss again?", she asked tentatively.

I crushed my lips down on hers for the second time that night, letting my hands wander fastidiously, teasing her as my mouth travelled further down her body. She whimpered and played with my hair, driving me insane. My kisses became more passionate, emitting louder sounds from her, little gasps here and there.

Let's just say I woke up with scratches all over my back and a naked girl in my arms the next morning. It was fantastic and I didn't feel the least bit rueful.

Ringo's POV

The two had been going at it for awhile now and I found it hard to believe that Delilah had recovered so quickly from her recent loss. Then again, it was John. We all knew it would have to end sooner or later; the guy couldn't stand a night without sex and practically objectified women. I was surprised at how well he'd treated Delilah and actually began to believe that maybe he'd finally found 'the one' as they call it. I thought she'd changed him for the best.

I suppose I was wrong, judging by what happened on tour. Delilah was an absolute doll and I'd known her a lot longer than the others, so naturally I took her side in the whole debate. Though I'm sure everyone else did, too. How could we not? There she was; this lovely little thing that could defend herself well and was perfectly gracious, accepting and adorable. You put her next to John and she looked like a saint; for the most part he was an ill tempered, cocky sex fiend who, at the best of times, couldn't keep his big trap shut for the life of him. We all loved John, but he'd been the wrongdoer in this situation.

And now here she was, doing the exact same thing John had done just the previous night, except with a twist; she was now screwing her ex-boyfriend's best mate! Ugh, to hell with it all. They'd get back together.


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22: Get Back

11:51 AM, November 13, 1964

Delilah's POV

A pair of arms constricted around my midsection and I felt warm breath on my neck.

"John", I moaned, reaching behind me to run my hands through his hair as he kissed my shoulder delicately.

"Mmm? No, luv", Paul said, turning me to face him.

A rush of memories from the previous night came somersaulting back to me in vague snippets like pieces of a puzzle. The boys had come back from touring last night, Ringo had let slip news of John's affair, I said some choice words to John and he fled. After, Paul had consoled me and I'd used him. I'd taken advantage of him.

"Right...I'm sorry. I really shouldn't have forced you into that last night", I relented, feeling guilty at how much pleasure I was taking in having his arms around me.

"Oh, no. You didn't force me", he chuckled softly. "Don't be sorry. It's understandable. Your emotions are everywhere and you were just trying to find solace in something; that something just so happened to be me".

"But John and I...well I've never been away from him like this and I feel like I'm the bad guy in this situation, even though he's the one who started it", I whined, turning myself around to hide my face in Paul's chest.

"Okay maybe it wasn't the _best _idea you've ever had, but try not to get yourself down about it. John's just being...John. You know he's never been as serious with anyone as he was with you. And besides, you know this was just as much my fault as it was yours", he said, kneading his fingers into my back reassuringly.

"Then why did he leave me?", I whispered, my voice cracking as I attempted to hold back tears.

"Look at me", he said softly, raising my chin. He brushed away a few tears and cupped my face, giving me a crooked smile.

"He didn't leave you. You left _him_. And I don't know exactly why he did it, but I think I've got a pretty good idea", he let me fall back to his chest and continued massaging me. "He missed you and he felt like if he couldn't have you, he'd go for the next best thing. That girl he took back to his room looked just like you. I'd been watching her the whole concert because I kept letting myself imagine it _was _you, that you were there. It made everything so much more bearable".

"What do you think I should do?", I mumbled into his collarbone, suddenly overcome by a strange urge to give him a hickey. I restrained myself and let him answer.

"I think you should talk to him. Just to make things final, you know? Actually talk to him, let him tell you his side of the story", he said with conviction.

"Why didn't I choose you?", I asked, my voice a barely audible whisper as I hoped he didn't hear.

"I don't know, I really don't", he sighed, sweeping my hair back from my face and combing his fingers through it.

Paul's POV

"Soooo", Ringo said suggestively as I forked eggs into my mouth.

"What?", I asked, raising my eyebrow at him.

"You and Delilah, eh?", he winked, nudging me with his elbow lightly, beaming.

"Nothing to talk about there", I replied, turning my attention back to my food.

"Oh, come on, Paulie. We heard everything last night", George put in, exposing his fangs as he shot me a sly grin.

The blood drained from my face and I apprehensively glanced around the kitchen to make sure Delilah was still in the shower. It seemed she was still upstairs.

"Yeah, yeah, alright. So I may have fingered her a little but-", I started.

"You don't honestly expect us to believe the sounds she made were from you sticking your dirty fingers up her? Not to mention the sounds _you _made", George cut in, wagging his eyebrows.

"Oh come off it, you bloody tossers! What we did last night isn't any of your business", I stated crossly, pouting with my arms crossed.

"Okay, fine. We just think it's a little _irresponsible _of you to be shaggin' your best mate's girlfriend", Ringo pointed out, swiftly turning to set his plate in the sink.

"_Ex_-girlfriend", I reminded him, raising my finger for added emphasis.

"Still", George countered before walking off into the living room.

"Well she didn't exactly protest", I muttered.

"Yeah, I know", Ringo winked, giving me a mischevious smile.

I shook my fist at him jokingly and rinsed off my plate.

"Yeah so she's going to see him in a half hour", I mused.

"But why?", Ringo asked, cringing in astonishment.

"She wants to know why he did it, I guess", I shrugged, even though I was the one who suggested it in the first place.

"He was lonely and wanted a decent screw. Isn't that why you did it?", Ringo stated bluntly.

I frowned at him and went off to the living room to see what George was up to, biting my tongue as I realized Ringo was right. As usual, he had his guitar cradled in his arms, his fingers positioned awkwardly on the neck as he coaxed a catchy little riff out of his precious baby.

"That's nice, Georgie. Got a name for it yet?", I asked interestedly, taking a spot beside him on the couch.

"Nope", he replied, face stony with concentration as he worked out a few more chords then sighed, resting the guitar on his lap.

"Well I'm sure it'll turn out fine", I said, patting his knee and getting up to leave him to it.

No reply; just more frustrated sighs and reworked chords as he tried out different rhythms. Just then Delilah came downstairs slowly, unsure.

"Are you ready to go?", I called lightly.

She nodded grimly and walked out the front door, not saying a word. Boy, this was going to be hell.

John's POV

Fuck. What was I doing? I resented myself more than ever before. Whenever I'd gone out and cheated on any of my "girlfriends", I hadn't felt anything but relief at getting them to leave me alone. Delilah. She was different.

She repeated the exact same words to me the previous night as all the rest of them had.

"I hate you and I never want to see you again!".

This time, unlike all the other times, the words hit home. I felt guilty; unclean. Like a hole had been punched through my chest. She broke my heart. But I broke hers first. Physically, I left her; emotionally, I was still there, still in love with her. I wanted nothing more than to just feel her.

But we both knew I couldn't touch her, she wasn't mine anymore. So I did the only thing I could; I ran to Mimi's and explained everything. To say she was disappointed was an understatement. She was furious that I'd acted so foolishly and let such an extraordinary girl slip through my fingers.

We talked and the night ended with me in tears, being comforted by a reluctant Mimi as she informed me that I could stay with her until I'd gotten things sorted out. And now here we were; the next day. I had planned, at Mimi's suggestion, to set out to Paul's and talk to Delilah. Or rather, beg to her. Beg her to give me a second chance and take me back.

"Good luck, John. And don't be an ass", Mimi encouraged.

"Thanks Mimi", I threw over my shoulder sarcastically as I opened the door, receiving a real shock. There she was, my love, standing on the front step, hand poised to knock. She wore an expression of bewilderment, a mirror of my feelings.

"Let's do this outside", I said, searching her eyes as she blankly stared at me, her hands hanging by her sides. She blinked and a single tear fell, which she quickly wiped away before I got the chance to do it.

She nodded and I stepped around her, making my way to the side of the house. I sat down in the grass and wondered what was taking her so long. Peering around the house, my gaze landed upon her perfect bum as she leaned into the window of a car that resembled Paul's remarkably. Wait, that _was _Paul's car. What the hell was he doing here?

_He probably drove her, dumbass. He wouldn't make her walk all the way over here_, my mind sneered.

She straightened herself out and timidly traipsed over to me, bringing her knees to her chest as she settled herself on the ground not two feet from me. She cast her eyes downward when I finally spoke up.

"Please take me back".


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23: Real Love

1:48 PM, November 13, 1964

Delilah's POV

"No", I whispered into my knees, my gaze fixated on the dying autumn grass.

"Please", John begged, dropping to his hands and knees and crawling closer to me, placing his hands on my shins.

"No, John. I didn't come here to accept an apology. I came here to get this dealt with and to apologize to you", I declared in a professional tone.

"Wha- apologize to _me_? I'm the one who fucked up, Delilah, remember?", he exclaimed, pointing to himself.

"Yeah, well I did, too", I muttered, looking sideways. "I had sex with Paul last night".

"Are you fucking kidding me?", John shouted, laughing darkly as he shook his head, his breath coming out in little white puffs in the chilly November air.

I narrowed my eyes and stared at him while his expression morphed from disbelief to anguish to hot fury. He set his jaw and gripped me by the shoulders, his fingers digging into my soft flesh. I squirmed and attempted to shove him away but his grasp was relentless.

"Tell me you're lying", he growled, his chocolate brown eyes fading to black as they flickered with vehemence.

I gulped and my chest heaved as his violent stare bored into me. Despite the frost-bitten air chilling my skin, a single bead of sweat traced its way from the nape of my neck to the end of my spine.

"I'm sorry, John. I need to go now", I stuttered, consumed with fear. John had never intentionally hurt me like this and I sure as hell didn't want to stick around when he was so pissed off.

"No, little girl. You're staying right here while I have a word with Paul", he stated calmly.

His voice and demeanor seemed casual enough, but his eyes swirled with aggression and his hold on my arms was so tight I could practically feel the bruises forming. He suddenly withdrew his hands and stood up, briskly walking in the direction of Paul's car.

"John, don't. Can we please just go our separate ways?", I begged, my voice thick with held back tears as I chased after him, trying desperately to grab his hand.

"Darling, I really am sorry. I love you and this is just too much. I made a promise to Paul that if he ever touched you, I'd kill him. Of course, the 'killing' part was just a figure of speech; but you know I'm going to bring him enough pain that he'll wish he were dead", John replied, not even bothering to fight me off.

"John, look I can make you an offer...if y-you leave him alone, I'll get back together with you. Can we do that?", I pleaded, my voice cracking.

"A promise is a promise, honey", he said, an unnaturally cheery edge to his voice.

John tapped on the passenger window, smiling. Paul raised an eyebrow in confusion and John wagged his finger at him, beckoning him to step outside.

"John, no", I shouted weakly as Paul got out and circled around the car, coming to a stop directly in front of John.

He opened his mouth to say something and John punched him square in the face, knocking him to the ground as blood sprayed out from his mouth and I let out a terrified shriek. I kneeled beside Paul and held him to my chest protectively as the crimson liquid dribbled down his face.

"John. Stop it", I snarled between clenched teeth, a maternal side I never knew I possessed making itself apparent as I suddenly had an overwhelming need to protect Paul. Like a child.

John lost it then. He collapsed to the ground and his hands flew to his face as he shook with sobs. I glanced at Paul, who looked just as conflicted as I felt and raised my eyebrows at him.

"I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry for everything. I promise I won't do it again. I swear. Just please, _please _take me back. I love you, I love you so much", John spluttered, peering at me through the thick veil of tears cascading down his face.

Paul nodded at me and I unraveled my arms from around him, inching toward John cautiously. He immediately threw himself at me, clutching me to him so tightly I thought I would explode from the pressure. He rocked us back and forth, blubbering nearly incomprehensible words into my ear, making one side of my neck extremely hot and damp.

"Please, Delilah, please. I need you so much, you don't even know", he kept on with a similar string of words until I interjected.

"John. Johnny, stop. We'll go back to Paul's house and sort this out, okay? It's cold and we're in the middle of the street", I reminded him softly, petting his dark hair back as I made shushing noises. He forced himself to stop and hiccupped twice before pulling back and nodding solemnly.

I stood up and rubbed my bruised arms, watching John help Paul up from the pavement, clapping him on the back as they shared a brotherly hug. How could they just make up so easily? Ugh, I don't understand boys.

John's POV

I knew Paul and I were alright as soon as I hauled his sorry ass up from the pavement; the lopsided grin plastered on his face confirmed it. As for Delilah, well there were a lot of kinks we'd have to work out.

"So how was it? The sex?", I asked her, my arms crossed as I leaned back on the bed.

"I could ask you the same question but it wouldn't get us anywhere, now would it?", she retorted coldly. She tried to put an edge into her voice but instead she came across as beaten down. I knew she was tired of playing this game and I didn't blame her at all. If I were in her position, I would've left me a long time ago.

"Point taken. Why did you do it?", I inquired, mortified at the thought of anyone but myself touching my girl.

"Because you left me and I was desperate. I felt vulnerable and unwanted and I just needed someone to want me the way I wanted you!", she glowered. "I took advantage of Paul's feelings because you made me feel like...like nothing", she finished in a whisper.

"Delilah...when I'm away from you for too long I start to really want you. I just want you everywhere. But of course, I can't have you. I took that girl back to my room because she was the closest I could get to actually seeing you. I missed you so much", I sighed. "And I forgive you and I forgive Paul, okay? And I want you to forgive me", I said gently, sitting up to pull her into my lap. I clutched her shoulders and she gave an involuntary whimper of pain and winced as if I'd just burned her.

"Hey, what's wrong?", I asked, sliding her shirt down one shoulder.

The bruises were horrendous. Vibrant reds and purples mixed together on her alabaster skin to paint fingerprints that matched my hands perfectly. My mouth dropped open and I reached out to stroke the marks when she hastily pulled her shirt back up, clutching the collar in her hand tightly.

"Did I do that to you?", I whispered.

She nodded, a guarded look in her eyes. I swallowed the lump in my throat and tentatively brushed her hand with my fingertips. She flinched and I nearly broke down in tears again.

"I'm not going to hurt you, baby. I promise".

Fear. That was all I could see in her endless viridian eyes. And it killed me to see her so afraid of me.

"I didn't mean to, I swear", I tried again. Same expression.

"Delilah, I don't want you to be afraid of me", I sighed, rubbing my face tiredly.

She scooted a bit closer and revealed a broken half-smile. She was repulsed by me, I knew it.

"Maybe I shouldn't be here. You're obviously too afraid to even talk to me and-", I brooded.

"Don't leave me again", she pleaded softly, peering at me with her big, innocent eyes, curly hair flying all over the place. It was in that moment that I fell in love with her all over again.

"Remember when you told me you'd never leave me? You've already broken your promise once", she reminded me timidly.

I did remember.

"It was the night after the murder. That cop tried to rape you and you came home all mussed up. You told me you needed to shower, 'cause you felt dirty. And all I could hear was you, just bawling. So I ran into the bathroom and I got into the bath with you, still in my clothes. And you begged me to never leave you and I said I loved you too much to ever do that", I said vaguely, recalling the memory as if it were yesterday, even though it had been almost 5 years.

The need to have some sort of contact with her was taking over my body, so I tried again. I ran my index finger along her leg and she didn't shy away this time. Moving with new found confidence, I ran the back of my hand against her cheek and she closed her eyes, taking my hand and pressing her lips to it.

I soon found myself sucking her neck tenderly, something I hadn't done in months and missed more than almost anything. Her hands played with my hair, as usual and she arched her back when my fingers strayed to the end of her spine, sending shivers throughout her body with my feather-light touch.

I was home.


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24: Glad All Over

3:01 AM, December 3, 1964

Delilah's POV

I'd been awake for an hour with terrible cramps, my head resting on the cool tile of the bathroom floor as I attempted to sleep away my nausea. The severe temperature difference between my face and the floor felt amazing. I could just lay here forever...

"Are you okay?", came John's worried voice from the opposite side of the bathroom.

I slowly eased open my eyes, adjusting to the light and stared at him with a face completely devoid of expression.

"Come on, baby. Let's get you back to bed. You've probably got a flu", he said, giving up entirely on trying to emit a response from me.

I groaned as he gently hauled me up from the floor. Nothing would stop spinning. I collapsed into his arms and he carried me back to our bedroom, tucking me into the sweltering sheets. I kicked them back with my feet with childish urgency and turned away from John, desperate for some cool air.

John kissed my shoulder and rubbed my waist. I slapped his hand away in annoyance and sat up, my hair sticking to my forehead in damp strings. I brushed the loose hairs back and tried my hardest not to fall over as the world spun around me again. I crawled to the ground and sprawled on the carpet.

"Delilah, what the hell are you doing?", John half-whispered.

"Fucking leave me alone", I mumbled from the carpet.

He sighed and impatiently threw back the covers, stepping off the bed to kneel beside me and brushed his fingers lightly across my back.

"Come back to bed, luv. I'm not letting you sleep on the floor", he said, lifting me under my arms and walking me over to the mattress.

I fell backwards onto the bed and lay spreadeagle across the too warm comforter. John positioned himself beside me, stroking my hair back and kissing my damp skin.

"Johnny, I don't think it's a flu", I said weakly, clutching at my abdomen in pain.

"What is it then?", he asked, resting his hand on my stomach.

"I...I don't know", I replied, deciding against telling him what I _really _thought it was.

I was pretty sure of the fact that I was pregnant. My period was _way _overdue and I recognized the symptoms from when my best friend's mom had been pregnant back when I was twelve. I was scared to tell John. What if he didn't want the baby and decided to leave me? I didn't even know for sure if I was pregnant yet anyway, so there was no need to jump the gun.

"Well how about we get you to the doctor's later, alright?", he cooed, kissing the spot just below my ear, making me shiver with delight.

"No!", I yelped, panic rising in my chest. "I mean, no. No, it's alright. I can go alone".

"Delilah, I'm not letting you go by yourself, luv. What kind of husband would that make me?", he said softly, stroking my face.

"Husband?", I inquired with confusion, staring questioningly into his eyes.

John suddenly removed his hands from me and reached behind himself. His hand reappeared with a tiny black box grasped between his fingers. My mouth dropped open and I stared at him, wide eyed.

"Marry me, Delilah", he whispered, opening the box to reveal a sparkling ring with intricate designs woven around the band, a large diamond resting with several tiny ones flanking it on either side.

"John", I breathed, tears springing to my eyes.

He gave me a somewhat impatient look. Then I realized I hadn't answered him yet.

"Yes! Yes, of course I'll marry you!", I beamed as he slipped the ring onto my finger and kissed my hand lovingly.

I raised his chin and planted a deep kiss on his lips. John had just slipped his tongue into my mouth when I felt a sharp pain below my ribs. I cried out, our mouths making a slight smacking noise as I tore away from John.

"What is it, baby?", John asked apprehensively, taking my hand.

"I...no, it's nothing. I'm okay. Really", I managed to choke out between short breaths. God damn, this thing hurt. John didn't look convinced.

"We're going to the hospital right now", he stated seriously, climbing off the bed to pull on pants and a tight fitting black t-shirt.

"John, stop it. I'm fine", I said between clenched teeth, trying to look relatively normal and not grab at my stomach in pain.

He ignored me and picked me up, swiftly bounding down the stairs and out into the crisp December night. The whole ride there, I kept telling him I was fine and he was overreacting. He simply chose not to respond and drove to the hospital. I was terrified. If I really was pregnant, he'd surely leave me. He'd take the ring and walk out of my life.

John's POV

We'd just left the hospital and were driving back to Paul's house, an eerie silence overtaking the car and filling it like water. Delilah was pregnant. I was going to be a dad. I was ecstatic, to say the least. But she didn't seem to share my feelings.

"Delilah, what's wrong? Do you not want the baby?", I asked, sliding my hand over hers and squeezing it reassuringly.

"I...I don't know", she replied softly, her voice breaking on the last word.

"What? But aren't you excited? You're going to be a mother", I said, trying to get her spirits up. I couldn't understand why she was acting so strangely.

"It's just that...I'm not sure I'm ready", she admitted, sneaking a sideways glance at me.

"Darling, you're going to be a wonderful mum", I said, smiling at her. She stared straight ahead the whole ride back, her hand laying motionless in mine.

Once I'd gotten her a damp cloth for her face and settled back in bed with me, I pulled her to my body and carressed her flat stomach.

"The doctor says it should become more noticeable in a month or two", I whispered, running my hand over her soft skin, feeling the little dip where her belly button was.

"John, are you sure you want to do this?", she asked out of the blue, sounding scared.

"Of course I do. I want this more than anything", I answered truthfully, resting my hand on her hip and kissing her neck.

"You promise you won't leave me?".

"I promise. I'll never leave you. Ever", I stated, staring into her eyes. She lifted her face into an effortful grin and pecked me on the forehead before attempting to turn over in my arms.

Sweat gleamed on her face and she gave up, panting as she stared at the ceiling.

"How do you feel, sweetheart?", I crooned, petting her hair back and dabbing at her forehead with the cold cloth.

"I'm okay", Delilah replied, giving me a smile I could see right through. I knew she was feeling the heat. It seemed like she was using every ounce of strength in her to not throw up or pass out. She was trying to stay strong for me. And I didn't want her to.

"No, you're not. Don't lie to me. I can see how much you're struggling. Just relax, alright? I'm going to take care of you", I murmured against her temple affectionately.

The tension in her body let up a bit, but I could tell she wasn't completely at ease. Then again, I wouldn't be either, what with the amount of pain she must've been experiencing. All seemed to be going well for a few minutes until she arched her back and whimpered, biting her lip to keep quiet. Tears leaked from her eyes, making salty little trails down her face as she tried her hardest not to be loud.

"Baby, don't. If it hurts that much, then just scream. No one's going to be mad at you for it", I said, watching her writhe in agony.

She didn't listen; she just kept biting her lip and clenching her eyes shut. Her face was beet red and her toes were curling. I rubbed her stomach and watched her anxiously. She bolted out of bed and sprinted out of the bedroom. I followed her to the bathroom and held her hair, rubbing her back as she threw up.

"John, go away. I don't want you seeing me like this", she sniffled, slipping to the floor to rest her face against the tiles. She was in the exact same position I'd found her in nearly 2 hours ago.

"I'm not leaving you to deal with this alone", I pulled her into my lap and held her flimsy body to me, whispering in her ear.

She weakly pushed her hands against my chest and I opened my arms, letting her crawl back to the floor. I looked at her with concern and kept stroking her burning skin. I stayed with her for another hour, holding her hair back and eventually giving her a bath before I carried her back to bed. It seemed her sickness was gone, though she was dead tired. I fell back beside her and drifted off to sleep just as the sun started to rise.


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25: I Should Have Known Better

10:34 AM, December 3, 1964

Paul's POV

I sat at the table drinking my morning tea when John sleepily stumbled into the kitchen, rubbing at his eyes. None of the others were up yet, but that wasn't surprising. John and I had always been the early risers.

"Morning, John", I said cheerily, sipping at my drink.

"Mmf", he mumbled in response, waving his hand at me as he poured himself tea.

"You seem tired. Rough night?", I asked as he settled into the chair opposite mine on the other side of the table.

"Yeah. I drove Delilah to the hospital at 3:30", he croaked, his voice rough.

"Hospital? Is she alright?", I asked worriedly, knitting my eyebrows together as I leaned forward.

John didn't answer immediately; he just cupped the steaming mug between his hands, staring into the contents in a daze as I waited apprehensively for his answer.

"She's pregnant, Paul", he finally said, looking up at me with raised eyebrows.

Time stood still. I couldn't believe it. What if the baby was mine? Would John leave Delilah to fend for herself? If so, I'd be there by her side.

"How far along is she?", was my only response. I'd be able to figure out if it was mine based on the timeline.

"About 3 weeks they said", John replied disinterestedly.

I counted in my head how long it'd been since we got back from the tour. Today was December 3...we'd arrived on the...12th of November. Exactly 3 weeks...

"Shit", I muttered under my breath, slamming my fists into the table. John shot up at my sudden violent actions and looked at me questioningly.

"Shit, shit, shit! John...John you know how Delilah sort of kicked you out the day we got back from the tour?", I asked urgently, leaning over the table.

"Yes", he nodded, narrowing his eyes in confusion.

"And you know how the next day we drove to Mimi's and she talked to you and that whole fight came about and-", I rambled.

"Paul", he interrupted, holding up his hand. "Just get to the fucking point".

"That baby...it could be mine", I gulped, suddenly afraid. John flared his nostrils and gripped the edge of the table so hard I thought he'd crack it. His white knuckles stood out against the dark wood as the pieces came together in his head.

"What the fuck, Paul! You didn't use protection?", he roared, lunging at me from across the table.

I raised my palms in defense and opened my mouth to apologize when I heard footsteps tromping down the staircase.

"What's all the commotion about?", Ringo teased. His face fell when he noticed the tension between John and I; not to mention the fact that John was halfway across the bloody table, his fist poised above my face.

John sighed and backed away, sliding back into his seat. He waved his arm, motioning for Ringo to sit down. Ringo glanced at me, perplexed, and cautiously made his way to an empty chair between John and I.

"Delilah's pregnant", John said bluntly, tapping his fingers impatiently on the table top while shooting daggers at me.

"Well that's great!", Ringo, ever the enthusiast, gushed happily.

"No, it's not. Remember when I cheated on Delilah and she found out? Well, the night I was gone, her and Paulie got busy. So, Paul could be the father", John spat, his black eyes boring into me as I tried desperately to ignore his gaze.

"Paul! I can't believe you didn't use a condom!", Ringo scolded, shaking his head as his blue eyes widened in surprise and disappointment.

"Oh shut up, you", I grunted, staring at the floor with my arms crossed.

"There's no need for that, Paulie", John said in a sarcastic, biting tone. "After all, Ringo's not the one who got her knocked up".

"Maybe it isn't mine, though! I mean, you've been shagging her almost every night since you two got back together!", I protested, throwing my hands in the air in annoyance.

"I guess we'll have to see, then", John replied bitterly, challenging me with his eyes. Ringo looked back and forth between us, unsure of what to say or do.

Just when the unfolding silence was becoming increasingly uncomfortable, George appeared, scratching at his neck.

"Morning, fellas", he called, winking at us obliviously as he rummaged through the fridge.

"Let's see what Georgie thinks of this mess", John suggested mockingly as George turned around, eyeing us in confusion.

"Come here, George. We've got a bit of a dilemma on our hands", John invited, waving his hand in the same fashion as he did with Ringo earlier.

I slumped down in my chair and pressed my palms into my eyes, preparing for the worst. George placed himself opposite Ringo and folded his hands in his lap expectantly.

John told the same story and by the time he was finished, George remained with a neutral expression. I was beginning to think that George might've been on my side after all, when he opened his mouth to speak.

"You're a daft git, McCartney", was all he said, as he rose from the table and continued his quest for the perfect breakfast.

I banged my head against the table and sighed, squishing my nose against the cold surface. John folded his hands on the table and peered at me.

"Wait till Delilah hears", he said coldly, getting up from the table and briskly walking upstairs.

"Fuck", I grumbled, closing my eyes.

Ringo's POV

I couldn't believe it! Never once would I have thought Paul would be so irresponsible. I mean, it was one thing to shag your mate's girl, but it was another thing to shag her _and _not use protection. I vaguely wondered how Delilah would react, or if she already knew. John must've been furious, Paul was feeling regret and George, well I believe he was on John's side. I know I felt bad for both parties. It was wrong of Paul to do that, but then again, it was wrong of John to do what he did.

And stuck in the middle of this mess was Delilah. Poor girl. She was going to need a ton of help, which I wasn't in the least bit hesitant to provide. I had a strange feeling that John might leave her as soon as he could, if the baby really was Paul's anyway. And I felt like it was my responsibility to take care of her if neither Paul nor John would.

I was contemplating these thoughts when John appeared in the kitchen with her, his arm around her thin waist. She looked puzzled; he obviously hadn't broken the news to her yet. She also looked sick. She had deep purple circles under her eyes, her skin was pale, and her face looked a bit sunken.

A tide of pity washed over me and I suddenly felt a paternal need to hold her and comfort her. John looked pissed and wouldn't take his eyes off of Paul. Paul was staring at the table, his face red and George was watching everything from his position leaning against the counter.

"Tell her, Paul", John spoke, his voice dangerously quiet as his grip on Delilah's waist tightened. She looked as though she was going to be sick, so John pulled out a chair beside me and placed her on it gingerly.

She looked at Paul expectantly and he raised his eyes to look at her, shame written all over his face. He shifted his weight uncomfortably as all of us fixed our gazes on him.

"I might've gotten you pregnant", he mumbled, coughing into his hand.


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter 26: Helter Skelter

9:27 PM, February 21, 1965

Paul's POV

Nearly 3 months had passed since the morning I admitted to having unprotected sex with Delilah. She'd taken it better than I thought she would. She just ended up shrugging it off and going to a clinic with Ringo to see whose baby it was. Thankfully, it was John's. A huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders and now I was just happy to help whenever I could.

Delilah's belly hadn't grown too much, being that she was such a small girl. And the pregnancy hadn't been going very well. She always insisted that she was fine, but I'd always catch her wincing in pain or throwing up in the bathroom. Honestly, I wished that she hadn't become pregnant at all and from the looks the others would shoot me from time to time, they shared my thoughts. Especially John. For the first month or so, he'd ask her if she was really sure she wanted to follow through with it.

I'd had my suspicions that John wanted her to get an abortion, but he'd never said it aloud until tonight. Delilah was sleeping (she seemed to be doing a lot of that lately), George was out on a date with his girlfriend, Pattie, and Ringo was visiting his mum. John and I had the whole night to talk. And talk we did.

"That baby's going to be the death of her. I just know it", John said, breaking the silence between us that had been filled only by the sounds of the mindless game show on the television that neither of us were actually watching.

"You've noticed it, too?", I said hopefully, glancing at him.

"What? You mean how she's always so sick? Yeah. That's not normal. It's sucking the life out of her. She loves it and she refuses to get rid of it, even though she knows she's sick", John said softly, blinking his eyes rapidly as tears welled up.

"John, I'm sure she'll come around", I said reassuringly, trying to convince him even though I myself had doubts.

"You don't believe me? Go talk to her. You try to convince her to get rid of it", John spat, on the brink of bursting into tears.

"Why don't we get Rings to do it? He's the only one she'll listen to at this point", I stated, knowing perfectly well that Delilah wouldn't take advice from me.

He nodded and suppressed his emotions, drying his eyes on his sleeves and clearing his throat.

"I just...I'm so worried about her. And I don't want this baby anymore. This...this _thing _could be the death of her and I couldn't do it, Paul. I couldn't. Call me a bad father, but I couldn't look at the fucking thing if she died giving birth", John growled, staring at the floor.

"I know what you mean. John, if...if anything happens, I'm right here", I offered, tentatively looking at him. He met my gaze and nodded appreciatively.

Our tiny moment of peace was interrupted by a shriek from upstairs.

"Fucking hell", John moaned, standing up and pointing his fingers at his head in a 'shoot me now' gesture before sprinting up the stairs.

I watched him leave and reclined in my chair, listening intently to see if I could catch what was going on.

John's POV

I ran upstairs to see what was making Delilah so distressed, completely unhappy. I was at the point where I hardly even wanted to look at her swollen stomach anymore. It made me sick. She was frail and looked like death, yet she walked around showing the monster off as if it were a _normal _baby.

When I entered the bathroom, I was stunned. I'd expected to see her throwing up, like usual. This time she was lying on the floor clutching her stomach, tears overflowing from her eyes as she fought to hold back her moans of pain. Her face was beaded with sweat and her breathing was quick and shallow. But all those things weren't the unusual part.

She was lying in an evergrowing pool of bright red blood. I knelt next to her and stroked her face.

"Delilah! Delilah, baby, what's going on?", I shouted exasperatedly, moving my hands all over her body in a frenzy. I wasn't sure what to do.

"John...it's...", she said between moans. "The baby".

"What do you mean?", I asked, trying to avoid the blood as I awkwardly leaned over her while keeping my knees an uncomfortable distance away.

"Just get me in the bath...please", she cried, unable to say anything else.

I complied and lifted her soaked body into the bathtub and waited patiently for her next instructions.

"The shower", she panted, squeezing her eyes shut as she pointed to the showerhead.

I turned on the faucet and started stripping her clothes off. She wailed and more blood poured from her, swirling down the drain with the water. I was beyond terrified and had no idea what the hell was happening, so I did the only thing I could think to do in such a situation.

"Paul!", I yelled at the top of my lungs, holding Delilah as she bit down on her lip so hard that it broke and started bleeding.

Paul's POV

I heard John frantically call my name and immediately rushed to the bathroom, nearly tripping on the last stair. I bolted down the hall and stopped dead in my tracks at the entrance, steadying myself with either hand on the doorframe. John was in the bath with her, fully clothed as blood seeped out of her shaking body.

She tried to hold back her screams and just savagely grasped at her stomach. I was speechless. The water beat down on the two of them and I plunked myself down by the tub.

"John, should I call an ambulance?", I asked, tearing my eyes away from Delilah's shuddering figure to look at him.

"Yeah...yeah", he stuttered, gulping. His eyes were wide with fear and he was smoothing her hair back and trying not to cry.

My muscles were frozen. I was so in shock that I couldn't even move. I just dumbly sat there until another screech from Delilah pierced my mind. I ran full force to my bedroom and picked up the telephone from its cradle, clumsily dropping it and cursing myself. I bent down and snatched it up, hasitly dialing in the number and biting my nail as it rang for what seemed like eternity.

"Please state your emergency", spoke a calm, collected female voice from the other end.

"I...I, uh. M-my pregnant friend is bleeding like mad a-and she's just screaming and I don't know what's happening", I blurted, tripping over my words as my slick hands struggled to keep a grip on the receiver.

The too-calm voice asked for my address and told me they'd be on their way. For some reason, it angered me that she was so unnaturally tranquil and I slammed the phone down in annoyance when the call was over. I stomped back to the bathroom to find John sobbing into Delilah's hair as he held her lifeless body to himself. She drooped in his arms and her eyes were closed. No, no.

"John", I cried, striding to the bath.

"She's gone. She lost so much blood", he blubbered, rocking back and forth, his clothes stained with blood and soaking wet from the shower that was still running.

I turned the faucet and the steady stream ceased.

"They're coming, John. They'll be here soon", I whispered, tears filling my eyes as I refused to believe that she was really dead.

Sirens filled the air and the sound pounding fists on my front door came from downstairs. I stumbled down and let in the two paramedics, pointing upstairs as they pushed past me. They came back with Delilah on a stretcher, running out to the waiting ambulance with urgency.

John trailed behind them as I watched from the door. He climbed into the back after they'd gotten Delilah inside and sped off into the night. I ran my hands through my hair and slammed the door shut in aggravation, collapsing onto my knees as the tears gushed down my face, falling onto the hardwood in thick drops.

After what must've been 10 minutes of heavy sobbing, I hiccupped and my tears stopped, being replaced by a feeling of loss. I curled into a ball on the floor and stared straight ahead for an unknown amount of time before dragging myself up and trudging back up to the bathroom.

The wall was smeared with red swipes and the floor was soaked with a large crimson pool that resided beside a trail of smaller puddles that led to the bathtub. The tub had a few traces of pink and red left behind, so I turned on the shower and washed them away. I managed to clean the whole bathroom from top to bottom in a complete daze; scrubbing away at the blood spatters all up and down the white cabinets, mopping up the lake on the floor.

By the time I'd finished with the bathroom it was nearly 11:30. No news from John yet. I decided that I'd hold off on calling Ringo and George. John would probably call them from the hospital. I peeled off my dirty clothes and fell back onto my bed, falling into a dreamless sleep before my head even hit the pillow.


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter 27: Don't Let Me Down

10:04 PM, February 21, 1965

John's POV

The ambulance blazed through the silent streets noisily as the two paramedics in the back worked on Delilah. I watched, terrified as they stabbed things into her paper-thin, pale flesh, talking back and forth in a medical language I didn't understand. I held her hand the whole time. She wasn't dead. They'd told me she wasn't dead. She was close to it, though.

They said she'd lost enough blood that she should be dead and if she could hold on for just a few more minutes, they would have a thirty seven percent chance of saving her. When we finally pulled up to the emergency room, they told me I wasn't allowed to go in. I fought and screamed her name. Security was called and they managed to detain me, telling me that if I didn't calm down I'd have to leave. This scared me enough to make me do everything they said.

So, here I was. Sitting in this waiting room, my mouth too dry to even think of forming words. I glanced at the clock and ran a hand over my face. What if she died because of this thing? I could never forgive myself. Memories of her limp, blood stained body kept replaying in my head. I saw her sallow face, smelled the blood on her, felt her soft hair damp with sweat, heard her crying out to me. It felt as though I were back in Paul's bathroom, desperately trying to save her.

"Mr. Lennon?", came a droning voice, snapping me back to the unpleasant sterile smell of the hospital, the mint green walls and the harsh fluorescent lights.

I noticed the voice came from the nurse's station and found myself stuck to the hard plastic chair. My feet were heavy as lead. I slapped my legs a few times and attempted to wiggle my toes. With feeling regained, I stood, wavered and walked unsteadily to the voice.

Leaning my arms on the counter, I peered through the little glass window to meet the unimpressed gaze of a middle aged woman wearing horn rimmed spectacles. Her lipstick was bright red and smudged terribly across her upper lip, and her blue eyeshadow and heavily lined eyes made her look like a circus clown.

"Your wife's in room 304. The doctors say to go up quickly, because they're not sure if she's going to make it", she said in a flat tone.

I thanked her and sprinted to the stairwell, taking the steps two at a time. I walked down the long hallway that never seemed to end and finally came to a halt outside of 304. I held my breath and pushed on one of the doors, stepping into the room to find a group of people in blue uniforms and masks crowded around an operating table, speaking in hushed tones.

They turned to look at me and two of them stepped aside, making room for me. I nodded and apprehensively crept up to the table. There she was. My Delilah. She looked a little better than before, but the sheets below her were vibrant red and soaked. They had her hooked up to a machine that was pumping blood into her, but it seemed she was just expelling most of it.

I stifled a sob and let the tears fall down my face without a sound. The doctors all looked away, continuing on with their jobs. I held her hand and willed her to just open her eyes. Her lips were cracked and blue, the cut from earlier was no longer bleeding but it was still red. I gripped both of her cold hands and rubbed them feverishly, trying to warm her.

The machine reading her heartbeats and breathing was beeping uncontrollably and I was torn away from her by a muscular surgeon while his colleagues worked away at her.

"Delilah! Don't you dare die on me! You can't! You can't!", I screamed, my throat raw as my emotions spilled over. I lunged forward, trying to break free of the man's grasp.

"Don't you fucking die, my precious angel! Don't you fucking _die_!", I called out crazily, looking like a madman as I thrashed wildly.

"She's flatlining!", one of the blue-clad specialists called as the heart moniter's erratic beeping turned into one long noise that I'd dreaded hearing since we arrived.

The man let me go and I stumbled forward, catching myself on the edge of the operating table as the surgeons backed away, shaking their heads in sympathy. I grabbed either side of Delilah's face and pressed my lips to hers over and over again, trying to wake her up like they did in the story books. She was my Snow White and I was her Prince Charming.

She was just sleeping. That was all. I could wake her up with a single kiss. Or two. Or three. Or ten.

"No...no, please. Please, please, please, _please_", I whispered against her forehead.

I pressed my eyes closed as tight as I could and let out big, ugly sobs that echoed around the silent room. Her cold skin felt out of place under my lips, under my fingers. This wasn't how it was supposed to be.

"No, this is all wrong. You're supposed to be _warm_! You're supposed to open your eyes and laugh, tell me it's all a joke and boy, am I sucker for falling so hard for it! Come on! Wake up, wake up. Get up, Delilah. It's not funny anymore", I choked, letting my salty tears drip onto her face and make tiny streams.

"God dammit!", I screamed hysterically, pushing away from her and dropping to my knees, slamming my fists into the linoleum as I lowered my head to the ground. My whole body shook as I expelled all of my emotions. It was all my fault.

"Sir, you're going to have to leave", the muscly guy from before stated, edging towards me.

"No, please. Just let me stay with her a little longer", I pleaded between sniffles.

He shrugged and moved back to his position against the wall with his coworkers; all of which were watching me intently, their own emotions in check, though they really did look sincerely bothered.

"Is there anything you can do?", I asked desperately, leaning over Delilah.

"No, I'm sorry. We did everything we could", a woman with blonde, shoulder length hair spoke up.

"Actually, there's one thing...but it's probably too late", a brunette woman contradicted. She resembled my mother so much it was scary.

However, I would only come to realize this later. At that moment, nothing mattered to me except saving Delilah's life. My eyes got wide and I struck my fists down on the table.

"Do it. Whatever it is _please _just _try_", I begged, a crazy edge to my voice. I felt the pressure of tears rising in my throat again.

"Alright", the brunette said, stepping forward despite the protests from her fellow surgeons.

She took out a pair of plate-like things with handles and called for an assistant. A small, mousy man scurried up and tore open Delilah's shirt, smearing a thick gel onto her chest. The woman flipped on the plate-things and they made a whirring noise.

"Clear!", she shouted, placing them on Delilah's chest and pressing something.

A zapping noise sounded and Delilah's body jumped from the shock of whatever those things were. The woman did this twice more until the heart monitor started beeping slowly.

She tossed aside the weird machine to her assistant and placed her hands between Delilah's breasts, counting as she pushed down. She continued with the CPR until the monitor was beeping at an apparently normal rate.

She withdrew from Delilah and gave me a thumbs up.

"She's alive", I breathed, bending down to stroke her face. Her coloring was coming back and I realized that she'd stopped bleeding.

I raised my head to say thank you, but the room was empty. Frowning, I turned my attention back to Delilah to find her eyes fluttering open.

"John", she croaked, reaching up to carress the side of my face.

"I'm right here. Let's get you home", I murmured against her lips, kissing her gently and pulling back to cover her exposed midsection. She snaked her arms around my neck and I hoisted her off of the bed, swiftly exiting the hospital.

"Paul, I need a ride", I spoke calmly into the reciever. Delilah was slumped over on one of the chairs in the waiting room, still looking fragile as ever while I used the payphone just 10 feet away.

"John! Fuck, I thought you'd never call. How is she?", he asked in exasperation.

I glanced over to find her trying to wipe off the gel from her chest.

"She's alive. Now, you need to come pick us up. I have to get out of this damn place. It gives me the creeps", I said, looking around.

"Alright. I'll be there in 10 minutes", he said. The line went dead and I hung up the phone, scratching the back of my neck as I yawned.

"We're going home, baby", I called out, eyeing Delilah in amusement as she continued to wildly rub at the sticky gel. She glanced up at me and smiled weakly.

I walked over to her and wrapped my arm around her waist. She leaned against me for support as we hobbled out of the emergency room doors, waiting for Paul.


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter 28: Birthday

11:38 AM, February 25, 1965

Delilah's POV

I turned my head and opened my eyes, wincing as the sunlight flashed across my face. The pain in my abdomen had subsided and the bleeding had stopped entirely yesterday morning. Sure, I was sad about losing the baby, but the worst was when the doctors told me I'd never be able to successfully have children.

I cried for a night before accepting the news. There was always a bright side, in my opinion. It just so happened that the bright side here was that John and I could have all the unprotected sex we wanted without having to worry about getting me impregnated a bunch of times.

I'd put the whole thing behind me and was slowly getting back to my normal self. The boys were all being an enormous help and I often found myself shooing them away because I felt like such a huge burden. And I'd also been recieving a bit of help from Jane, Maureen and Pattie; Paul, Ringo and George's girlfriends. The four of us met the night after my miscarriage. They came up to my room with flowers, cards and condolences and we'd immediately hit it off. And now for the last 2 days, we'd been planning for George's birthday.

I glanced at the clock and turned to a sleeping John, ruffling his hair.

"Johnny, wake up", I whispered.

He grunted and grabbed my hand, cradling it to his chest he peered at me with one eye through his hair.

"Helloo, wake up, sleepyhead!", I sang, smiling stupidly and retreating my hand to pull away the blankets.

"Hey!", he protested, sitting up and glaring at me playfully.

I shot him an impish grin and stuck my tongue out.

"Oh, you're gonna get it now", he replied mischeviously, lunging forward to grab me.

My eyes widened as he threw me to the bed and began tickling my sides. I giggled uncontrollably and begged him to stop between gasps for air. He ignored my pleas and continued up my ribs, finally coming to a stop as he pinned my arms above my head and looked into my eyes seriously. I tried to free my wrists from his grasp as he kissed me feverishly. His hands kept me anchored to the bed and I began squirming, wanting so badly to throw my arms around his neck and twirl his hair around my fingers.

"Johnny, please", I pouted when he drew back for breath.

"Nope", he shook his head and brushed my jaw with his lips before changing his course and nipping lightly at my neck.

I gasped and arched my back, hoping to cause some friction. He pulled my arms down to my sides as his mouth descended down my body.

"Hold still", he murmured against my collarbone, squeezing my legs with his own to keep me from moving.

I shivered at his touch and was about to complain again when he kissed my lips roughly and pulled away, leaving me stunned as he sprang up from the bed.

"Come on, Delilah. It's time to get dressed. We can't just lay around in bed all day, you know", he teased, winking at me as he disappeared down the hall.

I scowled and got up from the bed, crossing the room to pick out a dress. I scanned the closet rack, flipping through every dress while silently judging them in my head. After coming to terms with the fact that I didn't own any particularly fabulous dresses, I decided on a simple black number that fit me in all the right places and stopped just below my thigh.

"Lookit you, my little vixen", John whistled from the doorway, hair still wet from the shower.

I spun around dramatically and blew a kiss, sauntering over to him. I draped his tie around his neck and pecked him on the nose before promptly slipping past him to fix myself up in the bathroom.

George's POV

I was rudely awoken by John smacking me in the face with a pillow and snickering devilishly. When I opened my eyes to tell him to bugger off, I was met by the sight of John and Delilah, Paul and Jane, Ringo and Maureen, and my lovely Pattie. They were crowded around my bed in a tight sort of semi-circle with huge grins plastered to their faces. I smiled and they immediately launched into a pitch-perfect rendition of "Happy Birthday", complete with lovely harmonies. It sure was nice having friends who could sing, otherwise I'm sure I would've been cringing.

When they'd finished, Pattie rushed over to give me a cute little peck on the lips and tapped my nose. I squinted my eyes and shot everyone a cheeky grin, telling them to get out before they saw me in the buff. John cringed and whispered something to Delilah, lightly pushing her out the door as she giggled. The other couples followed suit until it was just Pattie and I.

She blushed and made for the door, stopping dead in her tracks when I grabbed her arm.

"You don't have to go", I winked, revealing what I hoped was a seductive smile.

She bit her lip and turned red as a tomato as I pulled her to the bed with me, holding onto her hips as she kissed me gently. Let's just say we stayed in bed for most of the morning and when we returned downstairs, our hair was a mess.

John's POV

We threw George a lovely birthday party. The whole downstairs of Paul's house was decorated with streamers, balloons and a large sign that read "Happy Birthday George". Personally, I thought it was a bit much; they were treating him like a baby. Then again, he _was _the youngest of us.

The day had gone by according to plan, save for earlier in the morning when Pattie had stayed up in George's room for a few hours. We'd all gone out to dinner with Eppy (our manager) and his idea of a happy birthday was to reward George with a day off from recording. Times were hectic, what with our newest album coming out in a few months and another to follow later that year.

We were at a grand restaurant and Delilah looked absolutely stunning, as always. Her shiny, dark hair flowed effortlessly down her back in a waterfall and the dress she wore accentuated her wonderful curves. I couldn't bring myself to look away.

"John, is something wrong?", she asked, raising an eyebrow and examining herself to see if she had dirt on her clothes.

"No, you're just so gorgeous", I replied flirtatiously, capturing her hand in mine and rubbing my thumb across her palm.

"How 'bout now?", she retorted, crossing her eyes and scrunching up her face as she stuck out her tongue.

"Still beautiful", I said, poking her cheek playfully.

"Easy, breezy, beautiful CoverGirl", she said in a mock-sultry tone, dramatically throwing her head back as she posed, sucking in her cheeks and pouting.

Apparently everyone else at the table had been watching because they suddenly burst out laughing. Delilah jumped and looked at them, bewildered. I snickered as she beamed, standing up and bowing.

"Thank you, thank you. I'll be here all week", she said grandiosely, blowing kisses and wiping fake tears from her eyes.

I shook my head and cracked a wide smile as she took her seat again, everyone settling down and returning to their separate conversations.

"You really are something else, you know that?", I chuckled affectionately, walking my fingers up her arm.

"I could say the same for you, Mr. Lennon", she replied smoothly, flashing me a cheeky grin as her hand edged up my thigh.

Paul's POV

I was really ecstatic to see Delilah back to her old self. And I was nearly over her. I'd found love in a redheaded actress named Jane. Whenever I was with her, my thoughts would wander away from Delilah and that made me happy. Though I'd been pining for the girl for nearly ten years, I knew we just weren't meant to be. The way John looked at her and the way she looked at him; God, we all knew they were soulmates. One couldn't live without the other.

Jane had brought me something I needed desperately; love. Delilah loved me, just not in the way I wanted her to. And I wasn't totally sure that what I felt for Jane was love just yet. I had strong feelings for her and they blossomed into something new everyday. I would just wait it out. See where life took me.

As for Geo and Rings, well they were just as happy as the rest of us. On the set of our first film, George had met Pattie, who was a model. She was the sweetest girl I'd ever met and George just adored her. She had straight blonde hair, doe eyes and pouty lips that revealed a child-like gap between her teeth when she smiled.

Ringo had met Mo before we even became known as the Beatles and they'd gotten married a few weeks ago. She was pregnant and had become extremely close with Delilah since the miscarriage. Maureen had dark eyes with the longest lashes I'd ever seen, her pin straight, dark brown hair ended at her shoulders and she had a wonderful sense of humor.

Jane's fiery red hair was cut just down to her chest and her blue eyes sparkled. She had the most wonderful red lips and always smelled like apples. We'd met in 1963 when she conducted an interview with the Beatles. I'd been blinded by my love for Delilah at the time and had only been with Jane since about a week after John and Delilah got back together.

The evening had gone by perfectly. We'd all chipped in and bought George a new guitar and a sitar, plus we were due to leave for the Bahamas the next day for filming.

We'd gone to a club and no one had recognized us, then we went back to my house for cake and drinks. Of course, we all knew Delilah had a slight problem when she was around alcohol (she'd never admit to it, though), and John had to restrain her.

"Delilah, honey, you know that's not a good idea", John's warning voice captured my attention as I sipped at my beer in the living room with Jane.

I peered across the room to find Delilah's outstretched hand snaked around a massive bottle of whiskey and vaguely wondered whose brilliant idea it was to bring it. Jane looked at me and raised her eyebrows, cocking her head to the side in confusion.

Delilah grinned sheepishly and looked down, blushing as she meandered to the kitchen with John's hand on her lower back as they went off to talk. George suppressed an amused chortle and Ringo scratched at his chin, trying to hold back a smile. Pattie and Maureen had the same expression as Jane.

"Delilah...has a bit of a problem when the alcohol starts to flow", I explained, shrugging my shoulders.

"You mean she's a drunk?", Pattie half-whispered, half-gasped in her innocent voice.

"Erm, not exactly. She won't actually start drinking unless someone else brings it out first", George said, throwing back the last of his rum and coke.

"But when it comes out, she can pack it away like no one I've ever seen", Ringo added, his eyes wide as saucers as he smiled nervously.

"Maybe that's why she had the miscarriage", Jane commented quietly, glancing around at us to see our reactions.

"No. She didn't drink _once _while she was pregnant", I snapped, suddenly feeling defensive.

"Alright, alright. It was just a suggestion", Jane threw her hands in the air.

The room grew much too quiet and it felt as though it were about to get real awkward real fast, but John and Delilah came to the rescue.

"Wanna play a drinking game?", Delilah suggested eagerly, looking around the room to see who was in as John kept a hold on her waist to keep her from getting into too much trouble.

George, Ringo, Pattie and I glanced at each other and stood up, following Delilah as she stumbled down to the basement with John holding her elbow. Once we'd gotten everyone settled down on the various bean bag chairs, large pillows and the one loveseat, Delilah explained the rules of the game to us.

Since Mo, Pattie, Jane and Ringo would have to go home, Ringo sat back on the sidelines. We offered to let Pattie and Jane join in, but Pattie blushed profusely and muttered a "No, thank you", and Jane just shook her head. So it was just me, Delilah, George and John. We'd race to see who could down 5 shots in the least amount of time. The loser would be eliminated. I was the first to be kicked out and soon enough, just John and Delilah were left.

"I bet my money on Delilah", George slurred, poking me in the arm.

"How much?", I asked.

"10 pounds", he stated clearly, smirking. Everyone knew John was going to lose, but I shook George's hand anyway; the bet was on.

"Three, two, one, go!", Mo called enthusiastically.

Delilah had already polished off two of the drinks before John had moved on to his second one. In no time at all, she had all of her glasses lined upside down in front of her, her arms raised in a victory stance as she beamed drunkenly.

I sighed and handed George the money. I looked down to scratch my neck when I heard a loud thump. My head snapped up to find Delilah, pressed against the floor, out cold. John sighed and scooped her into his arms, staggering up the stairs unsteadily.

"Night, everyone", he called over his shoulder tiredly as he disappeared through the door.

"I suppose it's about time we get you girls home", Ringo said, glancing at his watch. It was nearly midnight and a fatigue I hadn't been aware of before washed over me.

Once everyone had said goodnight and gone home, I wandered upstairs and smiled to myself as I drifted off.


	29. Chapter 29

Chapter 29: And Your Bird Can Sing

10:35 AM, August 14, 1965

John's POV

We were set to leave on what would become one of our last tours ever in less than 2 hours. Since Geo's birthday in February, a lot had happened. We'd released an album entitled Help! and a film of the same name to go along with it, Mo was less than a month from her estimated due date and we'd had exactly one day of recording for our newest album so far. We'd stayed in the Bahamas for the filming of our movie for just shy of 3 weeks and had arrived back in Liverpool feeling somewhat relieved to be away from the sweltering heat and back to the damp, cloudy streets.

Our tour was set to last for a little over 2 weeks and I was reluctant to go. Ever since becoming the largest band in the world, we'd had no peace. Girls would literally chase us down streets for hours, screaming and waving their hands about like maniacs. Not to mention, we'd only fuelled the fire by going on so many tours and doing so many promotional ads.

It was exhausting, and I hardly ever went out for fear of being recognized and assaulted by some crazy fan, so on the rare occasion that I was home, Delilah would sulk in the corner and beg me to take her somewhere. And every once in awhile, I'd feel bad and give in to her cute, pouty face and we'd go to the movies or dinner; but even then it wasn't as good as it could've been. We had to put on disguises because the press knew all about Delilah and psycho fangirls had proposed death threats before.

Delilah thought it was funny and refused to wear disguises despite my warnings. But that only continued to a certain point. Just last week we'd been sitting in a coffee shop, talking about our wedding that was set to take place in November when Delilah leaned across the table and yanked down my false beard, kissing me roughly. A girl at a table nearby screeched and chased us down the street, but not before she'd had a chance to leave a deep gash on Delilah's cheek. Obviously, she'd learned her lesson and never went anywhere without a ridiculous disguise anymore.

And now we were lazing about in the tall grass meadow nestled between two densely populated areas of trees, less than 5 minutes from Paul's house.

"John, I don't want you to leave", Delilah sighed, brushing her fingertips across my forehead to sweep aside my shaggy hair.

"I'll only be gone for two weeks, luv. And I'll call every day", I promised, tracing lines onto her thigh with my index finger.

"Really now?", she said, raising an eyebrow.

I flashed a cheesy smile and launched into song.

_"Close your eyes and I'll kiss you_

_Tomorrow I'll miss you_

_Remember I'll always be true_

_And then while I'm away, I'll write home everyday_

_And I'll send all my loving to you_

_I'll prete-"_

She clamped her hand over my mouth before I could get into the next verse and gave me a look of mock repulsion.

"Your singing voice is _horrible_", she teased, trying her hardest not to smile.

I removed her hand from my mouth and shot back, "Like yours is any better."

"Ugh, you got me there", she conceded, sticking her tongue out and getting up from the grass.

"Hey, where do you think you're going? You can't just cheap out like that. I wanna hear you sing", I half-joked, flopping my head back to see her upside down.

"Fat chance, Lennon", she replied, smirking down at me.

"Aw come on, Delilah. I sang for you, it's only fair that you sing for me. Just one verse, or even a chorus", I whined, patting the spot next to me that she'd just occupied.

She huffed and laid back on the grass, folding her arms across her chest as she stared up at the blue sky.

"What do you want me to sing?", she sighed, turning to face me as I danced my fingers across her stomach lightly.

"Anything", I replied disinterestedly, meeting her eyes.

"Just give me a damn song", she demanded, annoyed.

"Oh, calm down. Mmm, hmm. Let's see", I wondered aloud, tapping my jaw with my finger as I narrowed my eyes. A lightbulb flashed above my head and I turned to her, my eyes wide with excitement. "If I Fell."

"What? John, that's _your _song", she protested.

"Exactly. It's my song and I say you can sing it", I declared, batting my eyelashes for effect.

"Just don't make fun of me", she said softly, the edge to her voice gone.

"I won't", I promised in the same tone.

She launched into the first verse quietly, her voice as wonderful and placid as a summer morning. She gave me goosebumps. I'd never once in a million years thought she'd be able to sing so well. I had my head propped up on my elbow and I stared at her as she sang with her eyes closed, a red blush creeping onto her cheeks.

_"If I fell in love with you would you promise to be true_

_And help me understand_

_'Cause I've been in love before_

_And I found that love was more_

_Than just holding hands"_

She stopped abruptly and it took me a moment to realize that she was silently staring at me, waiting for a reaction.

"Jesus, woman!", I exclaimed, beaming widely.

Apparently this was the wrong response because her eyes got all huge and watery and her face formed a little "o".

"Was it really that bad?", she asked meekly.

"What are you talking about? You've got the voice of an angel", I stated seriously, nodding my head vigorously.

"Don't lie, John", she scolded, tilting her head to the side.

"I'm not! You're actually _really good_!" I chattered away happily.

She gave me a lopsided grin before her expression morphed into one of intensity.

"What is it?", I asked, worried that I'd done something wrong.

"Race you to the house", she stated seriously as she got up and ran for all she was worth through the thick woods in the direction of Paul's house.

I scrambled up from the grass and easily caught up to her. She could outdrink me, but I could outrun her anyday, anywhere. I made it up to the back porch and collapsed near the door, trying to catch my breath. She tripped up the steps, falling onto her knees clumsily and crying out.

"Delilah, are you alr-", I started, crawling over to her.

"Neener neener neener, John's a weiner", she sang, pushing past me into the house.

"That's not fair!", I hollered, dumbfounded as I pounded on the door, willing her to unlock it and let me in. She made obscene gestures at me and made an "L" shape with her fingers, indicating that I was a loser.

"Life's not fair, Johnny", she shot back, laughing in my face through the screen.

I put my hand to my face and snickered to myself about how childish she could be.

"Little pig, little pig let me in", I chanted in a gruff voice.

"Not by the hairs of my chinny-chin-chin", she replied in a high-pitched voice.

"Then I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow your house down!", I snarled, baring my teeth for effect.

She promptly flashed me her most winning smile and flipped me the bird, leaving me with a nice view of her swaying hips as she disappeared into the living room.

I slumped against the door and scratched my fingernails along the screen, smushing my nose to the coarse material.

"Paul", I called out in a nasally voice.

"What now, Lennon?", came his reply from the living room. I could tell he was aware of the situation from his tone.

"Delilah locked me out and won't let me in to play", I tattled in a childish voice.

"Maybe that's 'cause you're the biggest wanker around", Paul chortled. I heard Delilah snickering in the background and made out what sounded like a high five.

"Oh, _good one_, Paul", I said sarcastically, rolling my eyes.

"I know. I should be a stand-up comedian, don't you think so, Delilah?", he said lightly.

"Oh, definitely. You're too funny for words, Paulie dearest", she replied. I could practically see her waving her hands about in a dramatic fashion as she mock-flattered him.

"Come _on_, you guys. Just let me in", I whined.

"What's the magic word?", Delilah said, her voice becoming clearer as she reappeared before me.

"Please", I begged, clasping my hands together.

"Please what?", she taunted, placing her hands on her hips.

"Please just open the fucking door!", I said bluntly, getting a little annoyed.

"Now, now, Johnny. _That _sort of language just isn't welcome in this house. So, either you can try again, using your manners, or you can leave", she said sweetly, wagging her finger like a mother.

I huffed and crossed my arms, looking off to the side while I pouted.

"Please let me back into the house, my dearest, sweet love", I pleaded, sticking out my lips and getting on my knees.

"Well, okay", she said, waving her hand and turning her eyes up.

The moment she unlatched the door, I flew into the house, backing her up into the corner.

"I'm gonna get you", I said crazily, wiggling my fingers as she raised her hand to her forehead, pretending to faint.

"Ugh, please, spare me!", she said dramatically, placing a hand over her heart.

"I ain't takin' no prisoners tonight, honey", I drawled in my best (and worst) American accent.

She giggled and ducked under my arm, racing through the house as I chased her.

Paul looked up disapprovingly and shook his head as I pounded up the stairs, bursting into our bedroom to find Delilah positioned seductively on the bed.

She meowed at me and winked, swiping an imaginary claw.

"Come here, you", I pulled her into my arms and held her there, swaying from side to side as I breathed in her strawberry scented hair.

"I'm really gonna miss you, Johnny", she whispered into my chest, her tiny hands running up and down the vast expanse of my back.

"I'm gonna miss you, too. But I'll call you every day, remember?", I reminded her, pulling back to look into her eyes, showing her that I meant it. I wasn't about to make the same mistake as I did back in '64. I needed her.

"You promise?", she inquired softly, searching my eyes worriedly.

"I promise", I replied, kissing her forehead.


	30. Chapter 30

Chapter 30: Think For Yourself

4:17 PM, August 30, 1965

Delilah's POV

I'd been staring up at the ceiling for who knows how long, bobbing my head along to the beat of the Rolling Stones record I'd put on and drinking my depression away when the phone rang.

"Hello?" I answered, quickly chugging the last of my margarita and licking the salt from my lips.

"Hey, baby! How's your day going?" came John's chipper voice from the other end.

"Johnny! Oh, everything's peachy. And how's the tour?", I slurred, trying unsuccessfully to make myself sound at least semi-sober.

"Delilah," John's tone revealed that he knew exactly what I was up to.

"Hmm?" I replied obliviously.

"You've been drinking again, haven't you? And it's, what, 4:30 over there?" he exclaimed in frustration.

"Well why don't you try being the one who has to sit in this fucking house alone for 2 weeks! The only time I get out is when I go to work and even then, I have to put on a fucking costume! John, I'm sick of this!" I spat, extending the phone cord as far as it would go as I wandered into the kitchen for more booze, clanking the bottles together noisily.

"Delilah, don't you fucking start!" he growled in reference to the alcohol.

"Or what, John? You're halfway across the world, what are you going to do about it?," I mocked, pouring myself a White Russian and waving the carton of cream around exasperatedly.

"Delilah...", he sighed. "This needs to stop, alright? At this rate, you'll be dead before I get back."

"Are you calling me a drunk, then?," I challenged, my temper escalating rapidly thanks to the alcohol.

"No, I'm saying you need to just hold on. I'll be back in less than 2 days. I know you may think you're the only one suffering, but I miss you just as much. And I know how you feel. I'm the reason why we can't live normally anymore, remember?," he said softly, trying to coax me into putting the glass down.

"It's not your fault, Johnny. I'm just...I don't know," I whispered, suddenly overcome with guilt.

"You're what?" he prodded.

"I'm...I'm just really drunk and I miss you and my emotions are all wacky," I grinned, casting my eyes down to the milky drink in my hand.

"Okay, just try not to get into too much trouble," he chuckled softly. "Oh, and the boys all say hi."

"Well, tell them I miss them and I'm really excited for you to come home," I said, gripping the counter as the room started to sway.

"She says she misses you and she's excited that we're coming back tomorrow night," I heard John yelling.

Everything was quiet for a moment and I heard a hushed "One, two, three", then a chorus of "We miss you!" came from the other end of the line. I smiled to myself like a proud mother and slid down to the floor so as not to fall over as I tilted my glass back and lapped up the last few drops of my drink.

"Did you hear that? They miss you, too," John's voice was back on and I could hear him grinning.

"Yeah. Well I guess you'd better go," I murmured, pursing my lips and setting the glass on the floor.

"Be careful, baby. I want to see you alive when I come back," John insisted.

"Okay," I said without emotion, not promising anything.

"I love you," he crooned.

I hung up the phone without a word and fell to the floor, a black void overtaking me for the third time that week.

John's POV

I missed her terribly. And I was feeling rather proud of myself. Girls had been begging me to kiss them, fondle them, you name it, but I'd managed to keep myself distanced. While the others would go up to sign autographs and get their pictures taken, I'd hang back and scurry over to the waiting car with Brian, not even throwing a backward glance.

No matter how much I tried to tell myself that I could keep it in my pants, I knew if the opportunity arose, I wouldn't be able to resist the temptation, even if it meant losing Delilah. And that scared me to no end. Not being in control of my own body and sexual urges made me uneasy and I'd recently been trying to train myself.

Now that I'd found a way to dodge any potentially sexual situations, I had more time to focus on Delilah. I was worried sick about her and the two weeks couldn't end fast enough. I called her every night, as promised, no matter how tired or ill-tempered I felt. Her voice had a calming effect on me and my body would relax, making me all the more aware of the amazing amount of tension I'd possessed.

For the first week, she sounded content, albeit a little lonely. Things didn't really start getting bad until midway through the second week. Often, I'd have to call the number 3 times before she would pick up and she always sounded either drunk or irritated. The call I'd made to her just moments ago was the final straw for me.

I told her I loved her and the line went dead. Fabulous. She was probably passed out in the kitchen. I rubbed at my bristly cheek and sighed, turning around to find the others looking a little too comfortable.

"I don't want to tour anymore," I said bluntly. Everyone looked up from what they were doing to ogle me.

"I know how you feel. But we've only got one more day, John. Cheer up," Paul said, returning back to his newspaper.

"No, I mean after this I want to just be done. Forever," I persisted, trying to get my point through.

"Why's that?" Ringo asked, sincerely interested as he sipped at a Coke.

"Well for one thing, there's all those batty girls. 'Beatlemania' is getting a bit old, don't you think?" I said, rolling my eyes. "And don't you ever miss just relaxing at home? This whole thing is taking over my relationship with Delilah."

"Now that you put it that way, yeah. I do. I haven't seen Mo since we left and she's due in a few days. What if I miss the birth of my first kid?" Ringo said, panicking.

"I agree, but you know Brian would never let us quit," Paul interjected.

He had a point. Brian was obsessed with our public image, it was his life to keep up our appearance. Frankly, it annoyed the hell out of me. Sure, girls everywhere would be heartbroken, but what about me? What about the rest of the Beatles? Didn't we deserve to have lives, too?

George's POV

John was right. I was sick of everything. I was growing as both a musician and a person, and I wanted to have some space to explore. I didn't want my whole youth to be wasted touring around the world to perform bubble gum songs to preteens who didn't care what we sang about so long as we looked good. I craved time for myself.

I wanted to get out and see the world on my own terms, not by some schedule made up by a money hungry pig who pushed us along like a slave dealer. I didn't want to be collared and owned. I wanted freedom. Though, this seemed to be the wrong time to voice these opinions, so I stayed out of the conversation and munched away at my ham sandwich.

Paul's POV

Don't get me wrong, I was just as desperate as John to break my chains, but I didn't want to give anyone, including myself, any false hope. Brian wouldn't let us off our tight leash anytime soon, so why bother bitching about it? It was pointless. Besides, we were going home the following night.

Ringo's POV

I was just happy to be going home, though John's speech had stirred up a few negative thoughts I'd been harbouring, bringing to light my true feelings. It was strange how well I could hide my emotions; so well, in fact, that I soon had delusional images of myself as an actor. If I could mask my unhappy thoughts and always be Mr. Sunshine, why couldn't I play the part of someone entirely new?

I brushed these thoughts away and clucked my tongue at myself. _Just stick to what you're good at, Ritchie. Drums. Dreams can come later. For now, you've got to take advantage of the greatest thing that's ever happened to you._

Delilah's POV

I woke up a few hours later with a horrible taste in my dry mouth and a nasty migraine. I groaned and looked at the hideous cuckoo clock mounted on the wall beside the front door. One in the morning. _Nice one, Delilah_.

I hauled my sorry ass up from the floor and flicked off all the lights in the house, practically crawling upstairs and throwing myself into bed, fully dressed.

Needless to say, I woke up with a nasty hangover the next morning and was more than grateful to have the day off from work.


	31. Chapter 31

Chapter 31: Getting Better

11:34 PM, August 31, 1965

John's POV

We'd just arrived back from the tour, Paul and I taking a taxi together while Ringo and George went their separate ways. I was dead tired and anxious to see Delilah. I hadn't talked to her since last night due to the fact that we'd been on a plane for the last 6 hours and there hadn't been any time for a call earlier in the day.

"Night, John," Paul yawned, giving me a little wave as I stood outside of our bedroom, unsure of what to expect.

I shot him a small smile and inched open the door, crossing my fingers that she wasn't drunk, passed out or worse, dead. I sighed in relief when I was met with the sight of her tangled in the sheets, one of my shirts riding up her bare thighs as she murmured in her sleep. I kicked off my pants and pulled my shirt off, crawling carefully onto the bed and repositioning her body to make room for myself.

I was just starting to fall asleep when her groggy voice interrupted the silence. "Johnny?"

"I'm right here, sweetheart," I felt around, finally resting my hand on her waist and tugging her closer. She smelled vaguely of alcohol and a pang of anguish hit my chest, but I didn't say anything.

"I missed you," she whispered, tentatively draping herself across my chest.

"I missed you, too."

My fingers found home in all the familiar dips and curves of her body as she snuggled closer. It was unusually cold for a summer night and I found myself shivering and pulled the blankets up around us, planting a soft kiss on her nose.

12:46 PM, August 30, 1966

John's POV

A year had passed and our wish had been granted. Our last ever concert had taken place just yesterday afternoon in San Francisco, and now the Beatles had decided to take a 3 month break. George was off in India with Pattie, whom he'd married in January. Ringo was spending much deserved time with Mo and his almost one-year-old son, Zak. And Paul was off writing the score for some film I didn't remember the name of.

I'd taken up a role in a war movie and Delilah had quit her job as a freelance photographer, since there really was no need for her to work anymore and she was never seriously interested in the profession. The two of us had gotten married in late July in a tiny chapel located directly in front of the ocean in India and we'd even moved into our own house in London.

I wished we could've stayed a bit longer, but we had to return for the filming of my movie. Delilah didn't mind, she was just happy that I finally had time to be with her. Beatlemania pretty much ceased when our first "mature" album, 'Rubber Soul' came out in early December of last year. Our newest one entitled 'Revolver' had been released about 4 weeks ago and I was feeling older, more cultured. George was taking sitar lessons in India, the band had been experimenting more, resulting in a broader genre classification for our music and everyone's songwriting skills had improved greatly. Well, except for Ringo. Oh, well...

I was sitting on the movie set in a director's chair with my name displayed on the back, writing a new song. All day, ideas had been coming to me; ideas that sprouted from memories of my childhood and teenage years. Delilah was the main inspiration for this newest work in progress.

I called it 'Strawberry Fields Forever'. It was a sort of reminiscent dream that described the basis for most of the conversations that took place between us in the woods behind an orphanage. We'd run hand in hand down to Strawberry Field, me hoisting Delilah over the wall and following shortly after, hiking to our favorite hang out spot. We'd lie beneath the trees and talk for hours, sometimes until we'd witnessed the sunset and sunrise.

Often times, I'd wake up with her in my arms and then walk her home. She'd stand on the front porch, putting off having to go into her house for as long as she could. Her parents would scold her and she'd pretend to be sorry and later in the day we'd do it all over again.

I think that's when I really fell in love with her. During our lengthy chats about religion, politics, music, the universe. I found out so much about what really mattered to her, not how her parents met or what her plans for the future were. We lived in the present and she didn't like to talk about her family. She kept an endless stream of questions in her head and whenever I tried to direct the conversation back to her, she'd avoid my inquiry and bring the focus back to me.

I smiled to myself and shook my head as I scribbled lyrics into a notebook, the hot sun making me squint.

7:54 PM, November 9, 1966

Delilah's POV

"John, I don't want to be late, can you please just finish this later?" I whined, leaning against the doorframe of his office.

He looked up in slight agitation and sighed, tossing the notebook behind him. I smiled gratefully and turned on my heel, heading towards the front door. I did a quick once over in the full length mirror by the door and noticed John's reflection staring at me.

I spun around, cocking my head to the side as a perplexed grin made its way onto my face. "What?"

"You look lovely."

I blushed and stammered out a thanks, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. Even though I'd known John for almost ten years, he still managed to make my stomach erupt in butterflies everytime I was around him. I guess you could say my love for him was constantly renewed, never growing old; every kiss was like the first time.

John stared at me a bit longer before coming to his senses, making me look away in embarrassment. "Come on, then. You're so eager to go to this bloody thing, let's get going."

We got to the art gallery about fifteen minutes later, walking in to find several interesting exhibits. One that caught my attention in particular was manned by a small Asian woman with thick, raven black hair that fell past her shoulders. She smiled encouragingly at me and launched into a detailed explanation of her piece.

Yoko, as her name turned out to be, had a large wooden block on a table, with a hammer and nails in front of it. The purpose was for patrons to come by and hammer a nail into the board, one per person, and by the end, the people would have created a work of art together without any direction from one another. It was genius, I thought. I was just about to turn around and look for John, eager to get him over here and see this, when a big, warm hand placed itself on my lower back.

I turned my head to find John standing beside me, rubbing my back soothingly as Yoko explained the work-in-progress to him exactly how she'd described it to me.

"Would you like to be my first customer?" she asked me enthusiastically.

I beamed, nodding my head and stepped up, holding the hammer and a nail uncertainly.

I looked back to find John, smirking at me with his arms crossed. "Don't hurt yourself, luv."

I ignored his comment and concentrated on the task at hand. I'd never been particularly graceful, especially when it came to activities like this. Sure, I could hammer a nail into a wall just as well as the next person, but it required a little too much effort at not bludgeoning myself.

I turned to Yoko, who was looking at me reassuringly and expectantly with her hands behind her back. I took a deep breath and thought, _Well, here goes nothing. _Nothing was an understatement. It was everything. It took everything in me not to slip by an inch and end up pounding my thumb and forefinger into the wooden block.

When the nail was perfectly aligned in the center of the block, I whirled around to stick my tongue out at John and wave the hammer around like a lunatic; not such a good idea.

"See? I'm _fine_." I bragged, basking in my pitiful glory.

That moment didn't last too long, because one minute I was dancing around John like a child, rubbing my tiny victory in his face and the next, I was face to face with his shoes, a loud throbbing in my temple.

"Delilah, are you alright?" John exclaimed in concern, dropping to his knees to examine my wound.

"Fuck you, Lennon," I grumbled, using all of my effort to sit up.

I pressed my hand to my head, directing my attention to Yoko, who was white as a ghost, her hand clamped over her mouth and eyes so wide I thought they'd pop out of her head.

"Are you okay?" she asked, mortified as she held out her hand, pulling me up.

"Oh! Pshh, nah don't worry about me. Really, I'm fine. This happens all the time!" I waved my hand as if it were no big deal and forced out an obnoxious laugh, thankful as John's arms secured me before I could take a spill to the hardwood floor again.

Yoko forced an uncomfortable smile, as if I were a crazy bag lady begging her for money on the street. I blushed and laughed nervously, turning back to John and silently suggesting we hit the road.

He nodded, clearly amused and swept his eyes back to Yoko. "Thank you. And sorry about my wife, she's a little, erm, _uncoordinated_ at the best of times," he apologised, chuckling.

I shot John a death glare and smiled cheerily at Yoko, shaking her hand. "Pleasure meeting you, and your work is intriguing".

"Oh, the pleasure's all mine. I'll be seeing you two around?" she said, a tint of hope shading her tone.

"Of course! We'll keep an eye out for you, definitely!" I promised as John shook her hand.

She waved to us as we left, grinning widely. "Good luck on your, um, thingy! It's really great!" I called over my shoulder, mentally slapping myself for calling her art a "thingy".

"'Thingy?' Delilah, you're a real piece of work, you know that?" John teased, rubbing my arm as we walked out of the gallery.

"Well, what the hell was I supposed to call it?" I countered, defending my position.

"Honestly, I don't know. All I know is that you're a clumsy little girl who's out past her bedtime."

"You wanna tuck me in when we get home, Johnny?" I said playfully, batting my eyelashes.

"Oh, I'll do more than tuck you in," he winked, leaning in to kiss me as I giggled.

"John?" a gruff voice came out of nowhere.

We broke apart, turning to find the source of the voice. It belonged to the one person I thought I'd never see again: Pete Best.


	32. Chapter 32

Chapter 32: Fixing A Hole

9:18 PM, November 9, 1966

John's POV

"John?"

Our mouths parted and I snapped my head toward the source of that oh-so-familiar voice. I cringed inwardly and sucked in a sharp breath when the realization of who was standing before me came to light.

"Pete," I nodded curtly, my grip on Delilah tightening.

I glanced into her eyes to gauge her reaction. Her eyes were wide with fear and her face was white as a sheet. She immediately wrapped a shaking arm around my waist, stepping closer.

"Delilah, hi. Long time, no see..." he mumbled, awkwardly scratching his neck and casting his eyes to the ground.

It seemed as though Delilah was having a staring contest with the pavement, because she wouldn't look up when I cleared my throat or nudged her. Pete, on the other hand, seemed to be warming up a bit.

"So," he said a bit too loudly. "How've you been?"

"Great...we're married now, actually," I stated, shoving the hint down his throat.

Surprise flickered across his face and he raised his eyebrows, looking a little taken aback, almost. Strange.

"Oh! Lovely. Have you got any children?"

"Uh, no. No, we're um...we should probably get going. You know, it's been a long day and Delilah just hurt herself, so we should really get home before she passes out or..." I trailed off, anxiety bubbling up in my chest.

"Oh?"

I shoved my free hand into my pocket and started kneading Delilah's waist soothingly. "Yes...well it's been nice seeing you, Pete. Uh, I guess we'll see you around."

"Yeah...okay. Evening," he raised his hand in farewell and I watched him lope past us and stalk down the street, head down, hands in his coat pockets.

He looked back furtively and sped up, disappearing around a corner. I sniffed and leaned down to press my lips against Delilah's cold cheek.

"Come on, baby. Let's go home, alright?"

She nodded and we walked the short distance to my car. The whole drive back, she looked as though she were ready to burst into tears at any second. I opened the front door swiftly and ushered her inside, shrugging off my jacket and hanging it up, only to turn back to find her still standing there, eyes fixated on the floor.

I sighed deeply and took off her coat as she stood motionless. It reminded me of an orderly undressing a brain dead patient. "Delilah...it's okay."

"Did you see the way he looked at me? Like I was some sort of...toy he wanted or something. I don't know how else to describe it. He just seemed like a little boy whose toy's been stolen and he wanted it back. You stole his toy, John."

"Toy? Delilah, you're a woman, not a doll. And besides, you're mine, and you always were."

"I don't know. He just creeps me out," she yawned, rubbing her eyes.

Her makeup smudged and she scoffed, breaking away from me and trudging up the stairs. I followed her wearily, stopping in front of the open door as she yanked out her earrings.

I quickly stripped off my clothes and sunk into the bed, pulling the covers up to my hips. She walked into the bathroom and reemerged minutes later without makeup or a dress. I watched in amusement as she got on all fours in nothing but her lacy panties and began frantically searching the room after practically tearing apart the whole closet.

Her head popped up over the side of the bed, and she blew her hair out of her face. "Where's your sweater?"

"Which one?"

"That stripey one that I like to sleep in," she stated in an overexaggerated tone, as if she were speaking to a slow person.

"Oh, yeah, it's downstairs. In the kitchen, actually."

"Why is it there?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.

I gave her an impatient look. "Don't you remember? You threw it off when I screwed you on the counter the day before yesterday."

Her glance shifted and her cheeks became red as she raised herself up. "Right."

She disappeared and I smirked, priding myself on how loud I'd made her moan. She was back in no time and wearing the aforementioned sweater that drove me crazy. I wanted to pin her to a wall and make sweet love to her until she screamed everytime I saw her in it. I don't know exactly what it was about that sweater that did it for me, I just knew it was incredibly sexy on her tiny figure.

She flipped off the light without a word and curled up next to me, her soft hair tickling my chin as she hid her face in my shoulder and immediately fell asleep. I slid my hand up her (my) sweater and gently traced and retraced the soft outline of her breast over and over. My thoughts drifted away like smoke as my consciousness wavered.

I staggered downstairs, yawning widely and trying to shake my grogginess the next morning, being met with a wonderful sight. My Delilah was bent over, gingerly picking up the scattered pieces of a broken cup, her bare bottom in plain view. I smirked and leaned against the doorframe, sucking on my bottom lip as she unknowingly put on a show.

She stood up, her dark hair swinging as she turned around, sensing my presence. Her breath caught in her throat and she jumped, squeezing the jagged pieces of glass in her hands. Red appeared on her palms and she looked down, her mouth parting as she took in the deep wounds.

"Delilah, I'm sorry," I started guiltily, placing my hands on her waist and leading her to the kitchen sink.

I pried open her clenched hands as she winced in pain, most of the glass tinkling into the sink. The few stray pieces that remained were large and I grimaced as I pulled them out. She didn't make a peep, only stood there biting her bottom lip until, it too drew blood. She'd always been like that. Whenever it came to immense amounts of pain, she'd try so desperately to hold back her emotions, as if she were trying to prove something.

"Let's have a look, baby," I whispered, gripping her wrists and examining her bloody hands closely.

I pursed my lips and turned my attention to the blood pooling around her mouth. "Now look what you've done. Your lip's bleeding, luv. It's okay to cry. I'm not judging you."

"I know. It's just...I'm not really...I don't know."

I searched her eyes. "Alright. Let's clean these before they get infected."

She smiled weakly and I led her into the downstairs bathroom by one wrist. Her palms were turned up so as not to let the blood drip onto the floor. I lifted her onto the counter and rummaged around for bandages and peroxide.

"You're just a walking disaster. I mean, first the hammer last night and now this. Someone's got it out for you, luv," I grinned, dabbing at her wounds with a cotton ball.

"I suppose they do...John, I thought Pete moved away?" she said uncertainly.

"But he did. We're in London. Not Liverpool," I reminded her, smiling.

"Right. But I mean, like, _away_. You know, to America or something."

"Mmm...what are you trying to get at?" I asked, looking up from her hands.

"Nothing, nothing. I just thought it was weird that he was here," she said nonchalantly.

I put down the cotton ball and turned her chin to look at me. "Delilah, I'm not going to let him hurt you again, alright?"

"Who said I was worried about him hurting me?" she stammered.

"Come on. I know that's why you were so scared last night and I know that's why you brought him up."

"Scared? John, I was ready to fall over after whacking myself in the face with a fucking hammer," she countered defensively.

"That might've been plausible if you hadn't mentioned how creeped out you were by the way he was looking at you."

"Okay, fine! I'm scared that you're going to leave or I'm going to be alone somewhere and he's going to jump out of the bushes and rape me! Okay? Is that what you were looking for?" she cried.

"No, Delilah, just listen. I'm not going to let him near you. Ever. I mean it."

She gazed into my eyes for a few seconds before her lip started to tremble and her eyes teared up. "It's just...it's just hard, John. This is going to sound really stupid but I've been through so much and everything is too perfect right now and I have this constant fear that something's going to come along and fuck it up. I'm afraid that I'll lose you and everything will just come crashing down."

"Okay one, you're not going to lose me. I'm right here. And two, nothing's going to happen. But if something changes, I'll be with you, holding your hand throughout the whole thing. I'll always be here, Delilah. I promise."

"I hope you're right," she murmured.

I nodded and turned back to cleaning her butchered palms, pained at how little faith she had in me. I honestly thought she knew how much she meant to me and that I was always going to be there when she needed me. It hurt to know how fragile and scared she was. She reminded me of a frightened baby animal. She thought she was alone and had to be ready to fend for herself at any moment. She thought I would leave her.


	33. Chapter 33

Chapter 33: Tell Me What You See

1:24 AM, August 14, 1967

John's POV

Life was moving fast. A little too fast for my taste. We were all getting older, closer to 30. When I was 17, if you'd asked me if I expected to see 30, I would have scoffed and said no. It was approaching so quickly. It's not that I was worried about getting old, it was just the fact that I was maturing, the Beatles were getting involved with things we'd never thought to see. Drugs, family, death; our little family was falling apart. It felt as though the only person I really had anymore was Delilah. She was the one thing I could depend on to always be there.

My views on life were changing, people I knew were slowly fading out of my life. I suppose this was due to the fact that the Beatles had been spending more time away from everyone. We'd all gone to India in early June, shortly after the release of our newest, and in my opinion, greatest album. In late November the previous year, the four of us had gotten back to together to start recording and once the album was released, we decided to take some time off from work in India.

I found this to be a fantastic time for writing new songs. Inspiration was everywhere. I was writing about everything and anything. Drugs played a major role in this, of course, but most of my ideas were spawned from the landscape, the culture, new people and my evergrowing love for Delilah. She was incredible and I found myself in a constant state of awe around her.

One night, I was lying in bed listening to her soft breathing, turning to watch her eyelids fluttering and her lips moving ever-so-slightly as she dreamed. I gingerly brushed my fingertips across her ivory shoulder, wondering how she managed to keep so pale with the sun relentlessly beating down on her everyday for two months. Not once had she sustained a burn or any sort of tan. She was just...pale. Incredibly pale. Yet so beautiful.

It was during these observations of her that I was taken back ten years, to when I first met her. I was perplexed by her. She wasn't afraid of me, even though people had warned her to stay away. Our friendship was inevitable. We lived just a few houses apart and ran into each other frequently. Eventually, we became friends through our mutual taste in music and many other things, including our overly strict, unbelievably irritating families.

We watched each other grow up and had been through so much together. And we'd lasted 10 years so far. I looked forward to growing old with her, even if it meant not being able to have our own children. We'd adopt, or maybe we wouldn't. I didn't particularly want children at this point and I don't think she would've either, given the chance.

I traced my index finger over a lengthy scar on her back as she turned over, mumbling something about Jim Morrison. She was quite interested in this new American band that had just become popular earlier in the year; The Doors, they were called. Their lead singer, Jim Morrison, was a "total sex god" according to Delilah. I have to admit, he was good looking, but I was a little apprehensive to voice my opinion for fear of the other Beatles accusing me of homosexuality. So I thought he was attractive! It wasn't like I wanted to shag him or nothin'.

Anyway, these four guys from Los Angeles put out a pretty damn good first record and I was looking forward to their newest one, which was to be released in just over a month. That Morrison guy really intrigued me, though. I'd heard rumors about him. Strange things; supposedly, he believed that his soul had been replaced by that of an Indian chief when he was a toddler. There were several other rumors like that going around, and I was eager to catch a glimpse of the guy.

I was thinking up a hypothetical encounter when Delilah shot up from the colorful sheets, chest heaving, sweat glistening on her body in the pale moonlight streaming in from the window.

I sat up with her and smoothed her hair back, bringing her to my chest. "Bad dream?"

"Yes," she whisper-sobbed, clinging to me as if her life depended on it.

"You wanna tell me about it?" I put out my offer gently, afraid of pushing her too far.

She dug her short nails into my back and hiccupped, her body quaking. "You know what a doppelganger is, right?"

"Yeah, like a double of yourself," I wondered where this was leading.

"Well, a few months ago, the first time I tried coke, I had this dream. I'd be walking along in the desert and suddenly my double would just appear out of nowhere and smile weirdly at me and grab my arm. And when I tried to shake it off and run away, it would tell me that I was going to die in April," she paused, laying down and motioning for me to do the same. "And I've been having that exact same dream every night, John."

I pulled her back to my chest and ran my hands over the scars she'd acquired on a particularly bad night last year. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because it doesn't mean anything."

I narrowed my eyes, a memory trying to resurface. "Delilah...didn't you used to say that if people saw their doubles, they'd die?"

"Well, yeah. But I don't believe in that anymore. It was just one of those superstitious things my grandma used to scare my sister and I."

"You know I'm not superstitious or anything, but doesn't it scare you just a little? I mean, your doppelganger pops up every night, telling you when you're going to die," I countered, feeling uneasy and clutching her closer.

She ran a hand along the side of my torso, making me shiver. "John, it's bullshit. German folklore designed to scare little Polish girls like me. And besides, the dream's probably just the result of the drugs."

I didn't want to sound stupid, but I was genuinely starting to get freaked out. "But Delilah...if it was true...that would mean you only have eight or so months to live. And that scares me...a lot."

She abruptly unwrapped my arms from around her waist and turned away from me. "You know what, John? I shouldn't have said anything. You're taking this way too seriously. It's just a dream."

"You know what else they say about dreams? They're a way of your subconscious telling you things. Delilah, this is a real eye-opener. Clearly, the cocaine isn't good. I don't want you doing it anymore."

I could practically see her rolling her eyes as she scoffed, facing the opposite direction. "You're one to talk."

"I'll stop. And I need you to stop."

"Yeah okay, John."

I was getting beyond worked up. "I'm serious! I don't want you to die. What would I ever do without you?"

"I'm not going to die. So don't get your knickers in a twist."

"Delilah, please. You know it's not good. We're both getting sucked in. It's like the cigarettes. Once you've had a taste, it's nearly impossible to quit. Obviously, I can't quit smoking anytime soon, I mean it's been more than ten years, so...but the coke! It can disappear."

"I think you can do whatever the fuck you want, but you should just leave me to do with my life what I want, okay?" she snapped, turning herself to look at me with fury.

I sighed, close to tears. "I'm not trying to dictate you. I'm trying to save you."

"I don't need saving, John Lennon," she spat, throwing her legs over the side of the bed and shrugging into a robe.

I watched as she stormed over to the door. "Where are you going?"

"Out."

"Delilah, please don't do this to me," I pleaded, scrambling off the bed and hastily pulling on pants and my glasses.

"When are you going to learn that it's not always about you? Get over yourself, John," she threw over her shoulder, slamming the door in my face.

I ripped open the door, stepping into the surprisingly chilly air. Delilah was nowhere to be seen. How she'd managed to get away so quickly, I'll never know.

I stumbled into the night, calling her name in every direction.

"Where could you possibly have wandered off to, baby?" I muttered to myself, scanning every part of the resort we were at.

I told myself that she was safe and that she couldn't have gone very far, considering she had no idea of where anything was. I shivered and stuffed my hands into my pockets, an idea sparking as I headed in the direction of the beach.

The moon and stars glittered on the restless waves of the ocean, illuminating the sand in an eerily beautiful light. I scrunched up my eyes to make out a shadowy form lying in the sand.

I swore and sprinted toward the unmoving body, sure that Delilah had done something rash and ended up killing herself. She was lying there, gazing up at me. I exhaled a breath of relief and sat down beside her.

"I don't get it, Delilah. Do you do it just to scare me? Do you get a kick out of it?"

"I just want you to love me, Johnny," she whispered.

"I do love you. But I'm worried about you," I spoke softly, stroking her face.

"And that's why you'll never leave me. Because as long as I'm in danger, you'll stay."

My mouth dropped. "You do it so I won't leave you? You think I _want _to have a junkie for a wife? You don't even realize how hard this is for me."

She sat up, turning to me angrily. "Hard for _you_? John, I'm the one with the addiction. Believe me, I'd stop if I could."

"You just said-" I started.

"Look, I didn't want to admit it. I'm hooked and this is the first time I've said it out loud. I wouldn't even let myself believe it for awhile."

"You can get help. I'll help you," I blurted, clutching her hand.

She smiled weakly. "Okay. Let's go. I don't want to be in India anymore."

"Really? I thought I was the only one who wanted to go," I laughed in relief.


	34. Chapter 34

Chapter 34: The End

9:12 PM, October 17, 1967

Delilah's POV

I sat at the kitchen table, dividing my food into their own little groups on my plate. Rice on the left, chickpeas and curry on the right. I couldn't eat and I didn't dare look over at John, though I imagine he was doing exactly the same as me. It had been an awful two months. Brian died on August 27 and none of the Beatles had attended. Instead, we'd just gotten back from a memorial on Abbey Road.

I didn't know what to do, so I started cooking, trying to be the helpful wife. John kept assuring me that he wasn't hungry and that I should just sit down. I ignored him and continued bustling around the kitchen mindlessly, stopping every so often to support myself on the edge of the counter, trying not to break down. If I lost it, John would, too. He didn't need to worry about me as well as nursing his own grief, so I kept quiet and allowed a few tears escape when I was sure he wasn't looking.

"Come here," his voice made me jump and drop my fork. It landed on the plate with a loud clatter and I looked up at him, bewildered.

He raised his eyebrows and held out his arms expectantly. I lifted the corners of my mouth into what I hoped was an acceptable smile and edged around the table, stopping in front of him. He stood up and looked into my eyes pleadingly, as if he expected me to have some sort of magical cure for his sorrow, even though I was experiencing the same thing.

"I'm sorry," I reached up and stroked his cheek, wiping away a tear.

His face contorted with pain and he drew me into his arms, weeping uncontrollably into my hair. I closed my eyes and inhaled sharply, forcing myself to stay in control. I had to be the strong one. This reminded me so much of when Julia died. We'd been so much younger, but it was all the same. John, standing 7 inches taller than me, practically bending himself in half just so he could cry into my shoulder as I awkwardly tried to console him.

Eventually, he stopped crying and pulled back, leading me upstairs by my hand. I glanced back at the untouched food left to spoil on the table, wondering if I should go back and at least put it in a container for tomorrow and then casting my eyes ahead as I shook the stupid thought from my head. John collapsed on our bed and stared at the ceiling blankly. I curled up beside him and craned my neck up to kiss his cheek before letting my head fall back on his chest. His steady heartbeat and gentle fingers combing through my hair soothed me.

I fought to stay awake, dancing my fingers up and down his arm comfortingly. I didn't bother saying that it was going to be alright, because I knew it wasn't. Nothing would be the same again.

John's POV

Since Brian's death, I'd been thinking an awful lot about what Delilah said in India. She stopped using cocaine, but the dream persisted. It was getting worse. She would wake up in the middle of the night screaming and I'd spend a few minutes trying to get her calmed down before she would smile weakly and tell me to go back to sleep. I was convinced that she was alright the first few times, and did as I was told, but I got suspicious. She was always tired and I knew that she wasn't really okay. So, I faked sleep one night after one of her episodes. When she was convinced I was asleep, she left the room.

I poked my head around the corner to see her backed into the corner at the end of the hall. She brought her knees to her chest and sobbed. When I walked up and touched her leg, she shrieked and shrunk against the wall. As soon as she realized it was me, she sprang up and wrapped her arms around me as tight as she could, shaking.

And since that night, she'd been slipping off to the guest room when she thought I was asleep. When I asked her about it, she told me that she didn't want to bother me anymore and told me it would be best if we just split up. I refused to leave her and eventually she let me take care of her. She started taking sleeping pills, at Ringo's suggestion. I was reluctant at first, but they seemed to work. They made her sleep through the night and for the last few weeks, she hadn't had any night terrors.

Back to Brian; it came as a shock to all of us when he died. I was too wrapped up in my own emotions to attend his funeral and I suppose the other three had been as well. Or maybe they just didn't go because they knew it would draw the press even more. I think more than anything, I felt bad for Delilah. She was suffering from her own problems and didn't want me to be drawn into them. She wanted me to mourn for Brian and she pushed her problems away to console me. It wasn't fair, but there was nothing I could do to change her mind.

The Beatles became closer again, but things were still uncomfortable, and we all knew we'd never be the same again. Still, we needed to figure out what the hell we were going to do without our manager. Brian had been there throughout our whole career, keeping us out of trouble and in the spotlight. Now that he was gone, we had little direction. Of course we had plenty of songs for our new album and our producer was always there to help, but it was just all wrong.

We managed to get over it all, though. But with our newest album coming out in a month and a half with a movie to go along with it, we were constantly at each other's necks. It was hell and whenever I got home from a particularly bad day at the studio, I'd curl up on the couch with Delilah, pouting as she dutifully stroked my hair and listened to me rant. I'm sure she got tired of it all, but she never once said a word about it. She'd let me have a meltdown and then forget it ever happened, which was great.

Another thing that was bothering me to no end; everyone in the band had a moustache. I thought we'd all agreed that we would be our own people and not have a uniform like a bunch of overgrown quadruplets. Our clothes were different, but they resembled each other too much for my taste; bright and psychedelic. Our hair was all teased and the moustache was fucking itchy. It needed to go.

I told all of this to Delilah one day and when I was finished, she grinned widely and started laughing. I hadn't heard her laugh in months and at first I was a little thrown off. I joined in and laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. I was so tightly wound up and I hadn't even noticed it.

I turned to Delilah, who was staring at the ceiling with a tear going down the side of her face. "Promise me you won't die before me."

She looked at me, stunned. "What?"

"Promise me, Delilah. I can't live without you."

She shook her head slowly. "I can't promise you anything, Johnny. I wish I could, but I can't."

I looked back at the ceiling and new tears fell from my eyes. She sighed sympathetically and pulled me to her chest, petting my hair. I ran my hands all over her body, feeling every part of her under my fingers as if it were the last time. At that moment, I knew it wouldn't be long. I knew she'd been right.

How did I know? I turned my head to the side, using her breasts as a sort of pillow, when I caught her staring at me from the door, grinning wildly. It looked like her, except her eyes were black. I pushed myself up from the bed to approach the double, but it turned and disappeared after blowing me a kiss. I shuddered and looked at _my_ Delilah, who was staring at me with fear.

"Did you see it, too?" she breathed, her voice cracking.

I nodded and walked out to the hall, holding her hand in a death grip. Nothing was there. I gulped and slammed our bedroom door, locking it, even though I knew it was pointless. Delilah took refuge in my arms, more terrified than I'd ever seen her before.

"Is that what you used to see?" I asked, rubbing her back.

"Yes."

"Delilah, what the hell is happening?"

"I don't know. I told myself it wasn't real after it started happening. I've always believed in it and I just...I pretended it wasn't there, hoping that it would go away," she choked, stumbling over her words.

The silence was punctuated by her sniffles and little whimpers as she tried not to cry.

"So what happens now?" I asked, praying she had a way to fix it.

"I don't know."


	35. Chapter 35

Chapter 35: You Can't Do That

9:26 PM, November 17, 1967

John's POV

The doppelganger hadn't made another appearance since the night of Brian's memorial. But that didn't make Delilah feel any better about the situation. She tried to tell me that she was alright and didn't need me to supervise her, but she didn't fool me for a second. She was always paranoid and I knew she didn't sleep much because I'd catch her drifting off in the middle of the day and whenever I went out to the studio, she'd make plans to get out of the house, too. And she never went anywhere alone.

I was getting frustrated. At first, I'd been as scared as her; anyone would've been. It was surreal, seeing another Delilah. But once I realized it wasn't coming back anytime soon, I got over it and urged her to do the same. Obviously, it was too personal. So I decided to take her out tonight, in the hopes that she'd forget about everything for a few hours.

First, we'd gone out to dinner, which was more of a success than I'd ever anticipated. Then, we ended up taking a stroll through several parks, finally coming to a stop just over a half hour later. We'd been sitting on a cold bench in Kensington Gardens, the lamp posts flickering as I pulled off my coat and placed it around her shivering frame.

She was staring off into the distance when I leaned over to whisper in her ear. "Delilah, you're so beautiful."

She looked up and gave me a half-smile and a whispered thank you.

"I mean it. You're absolutely gorgeous," I persisted, grazing my fingertips across her jaw as I leaned in for a kiss.

She melted and clasped her arms around my neck, pressing herself closer as my hands wandered down to her hips. I stole away from her lips and bit down gently on her neck, opening my eyes to catch a glimpse of someone walking by. My head snapped up and I fiercely looked around. There she was. That fucking _thing_.

"You," I breathed, my eyes narrowing in hatred.

I clenched my teeth and stood in front of Delilah, who looked as though she were ready to faint. The doppelganger flashed me a set of pointed teeth and advanced toward me, black eyes glittering as it laughed maliciously. I didn't have enough time to be scared, so I lunged at it, knocking it to the ground and swinging my fist down to meet the frosted grass.

I looked around in disbelief. It had disappeared into thin air. Rising up from the ground, the knees of my pants damp, I turned back to Delilah. She was curled into a tight ball on the bench, her face buried in her knees as her whole body convulsed with sobs. She called my name over and over again.

I knelt in front of her on the pavement and gripped her hands. "Shh, it's okay. I'm here. I'm here, baby."

I held her for several minutes as she sobbed, unsure of what to do. After what seemed like forever, her whimpers turned into sniffles and she pulled back from me and swiped at her eyes furiously.

"I must look like a mess," she laughed, smearing her makeup.

I shook my head and held her wrists. "No, you're still the loveliest woman I've ever seen, even if you've got raccoon eyes and a red nose."

She giggled and ducked her head, shying away from my compliment. I moved my hands from around her wrists to her hands, locking our fingers together.

"I don't suppose you'd like to go to that party Yoko invited us to?"

Since the art show last November, we'd been running into the woman all the time. We became friends with her and we'd invited each other to several events since then. Just yesterday, Yoko called and informed me about some sort of hokey art gallery thing. The details were a bit unclear to me, as I hadn't really been listening when she'd explained them. But that was alright. I told her we'd be there at 10:00 sharp, dressed to impress. And now, here we were at quarter to ten, both of us hardly in any state to converse in small talk with art snobs.

"I don't know...you told her we'd be there and I'd feel bad if we didn't go. Besides, I don't know if you've noticed, but that..._thing_ only seems to appear when it's just you and me. Maybe if we're surrounded by a whole crowd, it'll keep its' distance."

I groaned and tugged her closer. "Do we _have _to? It's going to be a bunch of fancy gits silently judging us as they sip at their expensive champagne and claim that every piece of 'modern art' is some profound expression of the artist."

She frowned at me and poked my nose. "Yes, I agree, those people really are something. Nonetheless, we should go. It would be rude if we didn't. And besides, nobody's going to judge you. You're _John Lennon_. If anything, they'll try to find some deep meaning in those wet patches on your knees."

I cracked a smile and relented, looking down at my pants. "Alright, fine. But we're only sticking around for an hour."

"Good. And I guess it's a good thing I thought to bring makeup along with me. 'Cause I sure as hell am _not _running around at a fancy party looking like a hooker."

"You don't look like a hooker. And you don't need makeup. You're beautiful just the way you-"

"Oh shut up," she exclaimed, playfully smacking my arm.

I made a silly face at her and bent down for a tender kiss. She scrunched up her nose and giggled, sending electric currents through my body. I placed my hand on her waist and we walked out to the street, hailing a cab. The whole ride there, the driver kept glancing back at Delilah, who was hurriedly fixing her makeup, asking questions that were borderline inappropriate. We arrived at the building before I could say anything.

I stepped up to the window and leaned in to pay him. "That's a real nice bird you've got there, Mr. Lennon."

"Thank you," I said curtly.

I was about to walk away when his voice called me back. "I bet she's a real screamer, that one. And damn, those _hips_. You think you could pass her along when you're finished with her? I'd like to get myself a taste of that pretty little thing."

"You want to say that again?" I challenged, my blood boiling.

"Well, uh, you know. I mean, you're a famous guy. You've got women at your disposal. I just thought-"

I punched him in the nose before he could finish and leaned down to his bloody face menacingly. "You'd better hope I never see you again, you bastard. You stay away from her. She's my _wife_ and I love her."

I turned away without a second glance and found Delilah peering into the car in horror. "What did you do that for?"

"He told me he wanted to shag you, so I gave him a little warning, is all. Come on now, darling. Let's go find Yoko," I replied coolly, slinging an arm around her shoulders and shuffling her along into the building as she stared back at the taxi, wide-eyed.

I spotted Yoko in no time, dressed in all in black. Black sweater, black pants, black shoes. She was a rather interesting woman.

She ran up to us, beaming. "You made it! And it is...exactly ten! God, you two look wonderful."

"I could say the same about you. You've got that whole mysterious thing going on and it's pretty sexy," Delilah winked.

Yoko threw her head back and laughed, waving her hand as if to say "oh stop it, you". I raised my eyebrows and smiled awkwardly as Delilah gave me a light kiss and sauntered off into the thick crowd.

"So, John. What have you been up to lately?" Yoko's voice was distant as I watched Delilah disappear into the sea of bodies.

"Hmm? Oh, nothing really. The Beatles are releasing some new material and we've been working on a movie to go along with it since September. I'm actually quite excited for it to be over," I admitted, running a hand through my hair tiredly.

She cocked her head to the side questioningly, narrowing her eyes. "Oh? Things are a little tense with the band?"

"To say things are a _little _tense would be an understatement."

"Why's that? If you don't mind me asking."

I made a face and contemplated telling her everything. "Well, I dunno. I guess we're all sort of growing up and becoming more involved in other things. You know, like separate interests. I suppose you could say we're turning into men."

She nodded understandingly. "How about Delilah, then?"

Her cryptic question caught me off guard. "What about her?"

"How is...everything between you two?"

"Fine...?" I answered suspiciously, wondering what she was trying to get at.

"Are you sure about that? You seem a bit off lately," she commented.

I was taken aback and completely perplexed. "What do you mean, 'off'?"

"Tense. You give off this wave of discomfort whenever Delilah's around."

"What? No. No, everything's fine," I assured her, suddenly eager to find Delilah and end this awkward conversation.

"You just let me know if you need any company."

"I...Yoko, look, I'm...not interested in you that way. Um-"

"I see the way you look at me, John. I know you've been eyeing me up for awhile now. And I'd just like to say that I feel the same. Delilah doesn't need to know," she murmured in a sultry tone, stepping closer to cup my face.

I took a step back and glanced around nervously. "I need to find Delilah."

She caught my arm before I could walk away. "I'm sorry, John. I shouldn't have come onto you so quickly. Should we start slow?"

"No, we shouldn't start at all. I'm in _love_ with her. I'm _married_. I don't want you, I'm sorry," I peered into her dark eyes with pity.

She locked me in an intense staring contest and before I could do anything, she roughly grabbed both sides of my face and planted her lips on mine. I shoved her away and shook my head, wiping at my mouth frantically, as if to rub away the kiss.

She smirked and at that precise moment, Delilah came staggering over, supported by a silver-haired man who looked far too grandfatherly to be at such an ostentatious event.

"Mr. Lennon? This woman claims that she's your wife. Is this true?"

"Yes, thank you. Where did you find her?"

"Oh, she was down for the count over there," he gestured to the bar, where several persnickety-looking people with turned up noses were shooting disapproving glares our way and gossiping to each other.

"I was just having a rest, sipping at my cocktail when I saw her downing shots like they were going out of style. I'm not sure what she's had to drink other than the whiskey I caught her with, but it seems she might've ingested more."

I smiled politely, a bit embarrassed. "Yes, she's got a..._high tolerance, _I guess you could say. Knowing Delilah, she's probably downed more tonight than you or I could drink in twice the amount of time."

He chuckled and unwrapped his arm from around her waist, gently handing her to me. I held her close and thanked the man graciously before he turned and walked into the crowd of partygoers. Yoko stared intently at Delilah's drooping figure.

I bent down to Delilah as she giggled cutely. "Why did you do that, Delilah? I thought we were over this."

"She can't get me if I'm passed out, Johnny," she breathed, suddenly turning serious.

I shook my head. "No, no you can't do this. I don't care how-"

"_John_," she whined.

"No! This has got to stop. We're in public, Delilah. This isn't exactly what we need in the papers right now, okay?"

"Okay," she sighed in defeat, looking like a beaten-down child.

She swayed uneasily in my arms and collapsed into my chest. I pursed my lips and turned my attention to Yoko, who looked smug.

"I have to go."

"How about a kiss goodnight? It might be the last kiss you get for awhile. It seems as though you'll be having your hands full with her, and _she_ definitely won't be putting out until tomorrow, at least."

"Thanks for the invitation," I replied, scooping Delilah into my arms as I practically sprinted out into the night.

It was like an alternate reality out there. Inside, it had been hot, tense, noisy. Outside, everything seemed so much more...relaxed. The wintery air caressed my sweltering skin and the blue tinted moonlight bathed Delilah in a hazy blanket, making her appear even paler than before.

Once I'd gotten her undressed and settled beneath the covers, I linked my arms around her curled up body like a shield. I kissed her forehead and stroked her hair, recalling the strange events of the night.

That thing was back, and I'd _touched _it. It felt like a regular person, completely solid. But it had just vanished like smoke. What did it want? And the second thing; Yoko had kissed me. It felt all wrong. I felt guilty after, even though I'd been the one to push her away. I did nothing wrong yet I felt like I betrayed Delilah.

And then there was the final issue that had been snuggled up to my body since I arrived home. Delilah had found a way to avoid the double by getting drunk. No, not drunk. Wasted. She was completely wasted and seemed perfectly happy about it when she was still awake. There was no doubt in my mind that she'd just repeat tonight until she died.

Delilah didn't care what it took to keep that thing away, even if it meant endangering her life. Which was just as well, if I looked at it from her perspective. Obviously, the thing was a threat and I guess Delilah was in danger either way. But I preferred her to be sober and without wicked hangovers. There had to be a way to get rid of it.

My life was crashing down before my eyes. And little did I know, that night was just the beginning of a chain of events that would end in devastation.


	36. Chapter 36

Chapter 36: Here, There And Everywhere

3:22 PM, December 11, 1967

John's POV

Delilah's voice travelled from the front door to the kitchen in the back of the house, where I was sipping at a glass of orange juice. "Johnny, I'm going out. Do you want anything?"

"Oh, I think you know what I want," I called back, the smirk in my voice evident.

I could almost see her rolling her eyes at my immature response. "So nothing then? I'll be back in an hour."

With that, she shut the door tightly before I could even tell her I loved her. I shrugged and dumped the rest of my juice in the sink, placing the glass back on the countertop. _No_, I thought, _better not_. I checked myself and transferred the glass into the sink. Delilah hated it when I left dishes on the counter and I wasn't about to be given hell for it when she came back.

I whistled a random tune and touched my fingers to the spot where my mustache used to be. I grinned to myself and ran my fingertips across the coarse area above my lips, glad to be rid of the damn thing.

I was marvelling at my reflection in the living room mirror when a shadow streaked across the surface. I whisked around to find Delilah standing directly behind me, smiling sweetly.

I creased my eyebrows. "Whatcha doin', luv?"

"I just...forgot something," she replied in an odd tone.

She had an unfamiliar air about her. She seemed more...confident. Yes, that was it. The way she held herself caught me off guard and the way she looked at me nearly knocked me over. Only one thing I could find in her eyes: lust. It was strange; in that exact moment I experienced a rather rare case of the feeling that you can say only in French. Deja vu!

I felt like I'd been here before. Standing before her, I watched my future unfold, predicting everything as it happened. Though I knew my fate, I had no way of altering it. My body wouldn't do as my brain commanded, my mouth wouldn't speak.

My senses became heightened to an extent that seems impossible to achieve. I felt every individual hair on my body stand on end, the beads of sweat forming behind my pores, my lips unsticking as I opened my mouth in protest. Protest at Delilah's eyes swirling with black, her face morphing into an expression of evil satisfaction, protest at the knife in her hand swinging toward me at a gravely slow yet intimidatingly fast pace.

The world stopped for a moment as the sharp blade merged with my skin. The point of it pricked the soft flesh of my stomach and made a crater that expanded and decreased all in the same instant. I felt the blood rushing toward the cold piece of steel. My eyes bulged and I clenched my teeth, hunching forward as blood ascended up my throat, gushing out from between my lips. She retreated the knife from my stomach and pushed me to the floor.

"Delilah," I spluttered weakly, choking on the blood and trying desperately to grab at her leg while simultaneously holding a hand to my abdomen.

"I'm going to finish her," she grinned crazily, giving me a kick to the stomach and walking away as she laughed darkly.

Realization dawned on me. "_NO! _No don't you touch her you...you _thing_!" I roared, flopping around uselessly on the carpet like a fish out of water.

Delilah's POV

I hummed the lyrics to "In My Life" quietly as I proceeded up the front walk, my voice and feet faltering when I heard John's unmistakeable sobs seeping through all the little unknown cracks and holes divided between the window panes and spaces around the front door. I let out a strange, meek sound that I don't have a name for and rushed to the wooden door, keys in one hand, bag of vegetables in the other.

After a few huffs, curses and fumbles with my shaky hands, I pushed the door open. I couldn't believe my eyes; John was lying in a blood-soaked heap on the oriental rug, both hands pressed into his stomach. The brown bag and keys dropped from my slack fingers onto the floor. A few potatoes rolled out of the bag with ominous rumbles and the keys jingled merrily as they clashed together.

My legs became jelly and my stomach dropped. My knees hit the floor and I crawled to him, cupping his sweaty face in my hands. "John! Johnny, Johnny, what happened to you?"

"It was you."

"What?" I searched his eyes as his bloody hands left his stomach, rising up to carress my tear-stained face.

"You, Delilah," he choked.

He must've meant my double. My evil twin. Whatever you wanted to call it. I hadn't realized how deadly it was. Not only had it predicted my death, it had now made a nearly successful attempt at murdering John. If it was simply an entity conjured up by my imagination, then how could it be...real? None of it made sense. This thing obviously wasn't human, so what could it be if it wasn't just my own subconscious projection? Sure, I believed in ghosts, but this was impossible. A ghost was supposed to be the spirit of someone who was dead. I wasn't dead, so how could my ghost exist?

So many questions that needed answering. No time for them. "Hold on, Johnny. I'll save you, I promise."

He was fading fast. I didn't get a reply from him. His eyes were sliding shut and his breathing was slowing. I looked up from his face to grab the phone on the table next to me. There was no dial tone. There was nothing. I panicked, hanging up the phone and trying again. Only this time, there was no phone. I was holding the blade of a bloody knife in my hand. Red flowed from my wounded palm as it clattered to the floor. John was nowhere to be found. Everywhere I looked, there was nothing but white.

The white turned into black and I screamed. My lips pulled back, I felt the air on my tongue, but nothing came out. I felt the pressure in my throat but no sound made its way to my ears. I looked down at my legs. Horizontal slices appeared on my thighs. Little spots of blood rose to the surface of the cuts and soon, the tiny droplets multiplied. They multiplied until they ran down my legs in steady streams. I felt the life being sucked out of me.

There were gashes all over my body, everything was being torn apart by a hand. My hand. I looked up, my nose touching against my own nose. I grinned at myself wickedly and shoved a knife into my chest, twisting it into my wildly beating heart. I felt my hair brush against my face, my reflection staring back at me in my now-obsidian eyes. I gave the knife one last turn and heard the repulsive squishing sound it made as I gagged, blood coming out of my mouth. I smiled and backed away, leaving the dagger in my heart.

I produced a small hand-mirror from behind me and reflected it at myself. Red stained my vision as I watched the blood flow from my mouth, my nose, my eyes, my ears, everywhere on my body. I looked up helplessly, the red curtain closing off the world as I experienced my last sight: I was staring down at me, smirking with an 'I told you so' expression.

...

"Delilah! Wake up, baby! Wake up!" John hollered in my face, shaking me roughly.

I gasped and reached up, snaking my arms around his neck as he cupped my face, staring at me with concern. "Are you alright?"

"You...you _died_," I stuttered, my voice cracking as I tried to regain my composure.

"I'm here, it was just a dream," he cooed, kissing behind my ear and brushing his hands up and down my back, coming to rest on my waist.

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

I sniffled. "She was there. And, and she stabbed you and you were lying on the floor in the living room and I tried to help you...but you disappeared and she killed me, too."

John's grip on me loosened and I looked up to find _her _staring down at me with a look that twisted my gut. I shrieked and tried to push her away, but she kept a tight hold on me, smiling all the while. She grabbed my wrists and shook me, telling me to wake up. But it wasn't her. It was John.

"Delilah, wake up! Come on, wake up!"

My lips trembled and I uttered a nearly silent gasp. I was going insane. I blinked rapidly and gazed at him wordlessly. My eyes shifted to his untouched stomach.

"So it was just a dream?" I whispered, looking up at him hopefully.

He dropped my wrists and sighed. "Sort of..."

"What do you mean _sort of_?" I gulped uneasily. There was no way any of that had been real.

"Well, you went out and that thing tried to attack me. But for some reason it can't touch me. I can touch it, but it can't touch me. It's strange..." he was off in some faraway place, pondering this thought before continuing. "When you came back it...it managed to get at your legs and then just ran off. I've been trying to wake you since then."

His eyes travelled down my body. I held my breath, afraid to look. I finally plucked up the courage and exhaled deeply, biting my lip. I looked down at my exposed thighs. Blood dripped from two horizontal slashes that ran quite deep, judging by the flow of the red liquid. I hadn't even noticed the stinging until just now.

John touched his fingers to my wounds, only to retreat them just as fast when I squirmed in pain. "Can you walk?"

I looked up from the gashes and nodded slowly. Truth is, I wasn't sure of anything at that moment. I bent my knees and winced, gritting my teeth as John secured me in a tight hold, pretty much dragging me up from the floor.

"I'm fine, really," I grunted. He gave me an unsatisfied look of disbelief.

A sudden rush of anger bloomed in my chest. "John, I'm sick of always relying on you for everything! I can do this myself, okay?"

He opened his mouth in shock, seemingly hurt. "I'm just trying to help you. You're being terrorized by something that shouldn't even exist and you expect me to sit back and do nothing?"

My gaze slid down to the floor. "I'm sorry...I just feel like a burden. I thought I'd do you a favor and handle things alone for once."

"You're not a burden. And this might sound a bit sick, but I actually kind of _like _it when this happens. 'Cause it means I get to take care of you. It makes me feel helpful. Gives me something to hope for."

I blushed and hid my face in his chest. "Okay. You can clean my filthy, oozing wounds if it really makes you feel better."

"Hmm, yeah I'd like that," he chuckled softly, playing with my hair.

"Could you...carry me? It hurts to stand, so walking would probably be a lot worse," I admitted sheepishly.

He pulled back to give me a wink and scooped me into his arms. "Of course."

"I feel like a toddler who's always getting into things. And you're the mum that always has to bandage me up and give me cookies," I chattered as we walked to the bathroom by the living room.

He set me down on the counter gently and looked at my legs before turning away to find the medical supplies. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

A comfortable silence overcame us as he placed one hand on my thigh, the other one dabbing at the wound. He abruptly stopped and snapped his head up to look at me.

"You know, this would be a lot easier if you just took a bath or something. Then we'll bandage you up after."

I smiled. "You're just looking for an excuse to see me naked."

"True. But it really would be easier," he shrugged, grinning impishly.

"Alright, whatever you think is best."

I pulled my dress over my head and tossed it to the floor, waiting patiently for him to help me to the shower. He tilted his head to the side and sucked on his bottom lip, ogling my naked form.

"Come on, Lennon. We haven't got all day!" I interrupted his little daydream and he smirked, hoisting me into his arms and setting me down in the bath.

"Are you sure you don't need any help? I mean, you look pretty seriously wounded," he grinned coyly.

I tapped my finger against my lips, pretending to think. "Mmm, okay."

He sighed in content and turned on the water. I shrieked and backed away from the icy stream, giving it a chance to warm up. John snickered and pulled off his clothes, stepping in with me. He kissed my neck tenderly, sending shivers of pleasure throughout my body. I forgot all about my butchered legs and leaned in to kiss him as he planted his lips on mine, easing his tongue into my mouth.


	37. Chapter 37

Chapter 37: Do You Want To Know A Secret?

10:26 AM, December 31, 1967

John's POV

Delilah's thighs were nearly healed and she was walking without pain again. We hadn't had anymore trouble from the...thing since the leg incident and Christmas had gone by without a hitch, thankfully. The newest movie from the Beatles, "Magical Mystery Tour" had aired on television the day after Christmas and I hadn't even bothered to watch it. I was done. I didn't want to be a Beatle anymore. My creative resources were far from exhausted, but I just didn't have the same attitude toward the whole 'group' thing anymore. Don't get me wrong, I loved those three men to death, but I wanted it to be over, more than anything. Unfortunately, we were being encouraged to write more new songs for _another _album. And write, I did, just for my own purposes.

I jotted down the last few lines of my latest creation and smiled triumphantly at Delilah when I was finished. "I think you'll really like this one."

She raised her eyebrows and sipped at her tea. "Oh?"

"Mhmm. Let me play it for you," I scrambled out of my chair excitedly and grabbed her hand.

"Oh," she breathed in surprise, smiling and setting her cup on the table.

I led her into the living room and patted the spot next to me on the piano bench. She sat down shyly, gazing up at me through her thick lashes. I pressed my lips to hers gently; it reminded me of our first kiss. Our lips were barely touching, yet a wild current ran throughout my body.

I coughed a little, setting up my notebook on the ledge in front of me. My hands found all the right keys and I began, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

_"All my little plans and schemes_

_Gone like some forgotten dream_

_Seems like all I really was doing_

_Was waiting for you_

_Just like little girls and boys_

_Playing with their little toys_

_Seems like all we really were doing_

_Was waiting for love_

_No need to be alone_

_No need to be alone_

_It's real love, yes it's real_

_Yes, it's real love, it's real_

_From this moment on, I know_

_Exactly where my life will go_

_Seems like all I really was doing_

_Was waiting for love_

_Thought I'd been in love before_

_But in my heart I wanted more_

_Seems like all I really was doing_

_Was waiting for you_

_No need to be afraid_

_No need to be afraid_

_It's real love, yes it's real_

_Yes, it's real love, it's real"_

The last notes rang out and I lifted my fingers from the keys, settling them in my lap and turning to Delilah slowly. I was anxious to see her reaction and a little afraid. She was staring at me intently, an unidentifiable expression in her bright eyes. She blinked and tears rolled down her pink cheeks. I brushed them away with my thumbs and stroked her face.

"Well?"

"It's beautiful, John," she whispered, putting her hands over mine and squeezing them.

I kissed her and whispered against her lips. "Just like you."

She let out a strangled little cry and threw her arms around my neck, burying her face in my shoulder. I rubbed her back and sighed happily.

"So you like it then?"

"I love it!"

"I love _you_," I murmured, nuzzling her neck.

Delilah's POV

John told me he'd written more songs for me and I nearly broke down. It was so sweet. Never once in my life had I imagined anything like this would ever happen. I'd always thought that I'd be alone or end up in a loveless marriage. Yet here I was, with a man who adored me more than anything in the world. And he'd been professing his love for me through songs and poems for ten years.

I was lying with my head in his lap while he leaned over me, pointing out all the songs he'd ever written and telling me the history behind them. "This one...this one is probably the worst. I wrote it when Paul was chasing after you. I thought that you'd leave me and I guess this is just what came out of the whole thing."

I admit, "Run For Your Life" wasn't my favorite song he'd written, but it was catchy and it gave me a sort of strange feeling of satisfaction. The first time I heard it, I knew it was about me. I was baffled at how possessive John was of me, to say the least. But after awhile, I sort of thought it was sweet in a twisted way.

I studied the scribbled lyrics that ran haphazardly across the page, crammed between doodles, notes and crossed out words. "John, you weren't actually thinking of killing me...were you?"

"What? No, I was just extremely pissed off. You know how I can get sometimes. It was...well, I guess the first line is true. I really _would _rather see you dead than to be with another man. Not to say that I would _kill _you. Just that it would break my heart more than if you were dead; to know that you'd want someone else more than me. I hope I'm not frightening you, darling."

I relaxed in his arms, shifting my weight a little. "No, I get it...and what about this one?" I turned the page over, touching my finger to the title of the next song, "It's Only Love".

"What about it?"

I ran my index finger over the words, feeling the little bumps in the paper where pens had touched, words flowing out from the tips. "When did you write it?"

He sighed, clearly remembering the exact specifics of the origins. "I wrote it a few weeks after I met you. You know, you'd pass me in the halls at school and you'd walk ahead of me on your way home everyday...and I could never work up the nerve to even say hi. You were just so...wonderful. I'd never seen anyone like you before and I wasn't sure how to approach you."

I giggled. "Oh really?"

"Yes. I knew you weren't like the other girls; the slaggy ones. You were hard to get. I knew that from talking to all the other guys like me who'd tried to ask you out. You didn't take any of their shit and that drew me in like a moth to a flame. Eventually, we ended up becoming friends and I waited it out. I waited for just the right time to tell you. But that time didn't come for three years."

He paused, waiting for me to add anything in. I stayed silent, eager to hear what he had to say. He'd never told me any of this before. When he realized I wasn't going to interject, he continued.

"All my friends thought I was mad. Chasing you for three _years. _You knew how much of a git I was, but you didn't mind because I wasn't the same when I was with you. I'd never felt anything like it for anyone. Most girls threw themselves at me and then it was over after a quick shag. I didn't want to try any of that with you, because I knew you wouldn't take it,

"So instead, I took it slow. I tried to keep my feelings hidden and just be your friend. And that worked for awhile. When you came to my house on the night of your family's murder, I couldn't hold it back. Everything became clearer then. You let your guard down and I realized you felt the same as me."

I smiled as a surge of love washed over my chest. "Is that the first one you wrote for me?"

"Yeah. I suppose it is. Oh, wait. No, actually it's not..." he trailed off, flipping through the pages of his notebook wildly.

He finally stopped, settling on a page and prodding it with his finger. "This is the one."

There was no title, so my eyes skimmed the lyrics instead.

_Everywhere people stare_

_Each and everyday_

_I can see them laugh at me_

_And I hear them say_

_Hey, you've got to hide your love away..._

I knew what song it was, but the verses were in a different order. "Back in high school, I never knew you were so...human. I always heard bad things about you and never thought that maybe they were all wrong..."

John smiled down at me sadly. "They weren't wrong. I was a bastard to everyone until you came along. Even then, it took me awhile to realize that you weren't going to fall for me if I stayed the same."

I blushed and covered my face. "John, you're so cute."

"Not as cute as you, though," he countered, taking my hands from my face and kissing my nose.

I smiled and picked up his notebook from my stomach, feeling every page with my fingers as I examined every drawing, scribble, word and number.

"John?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you still miss her?" I whispered tentatively, my eyes exploring the two pages full of lyrics I'd never read before.

"Who?" he asked distantly, combing my hair with his fingers.

"Julia."

His hands froze and he stiffened. I'd definitely said the wrong thing. I shouldn't have even brought up the subject. But I couldn't help it. As I stared at those words that were undoubtedly about his mother, a wave of nostalgia and sadness crashed down on me. I hadn't thought about my own mother in nearly two years. How recent were these songs he'd written for her, anyway?

"Every day," he replied at last, his voice wavering.

"I'm sorry, Johnny. I shouldn't have said anything."

He relaxed and resumed toying with my hair. "No it's fine. Do you miss your family?"

"Not my dad," I replied truthfully.

I felt a stab of guilt and shoved it away forcefully, knowing fully well that I never loved my dad. He was just there, so I'd always felt obligated to at least pretend to have feelings for him.

"He was your dad, Delilah. I know he went off the deep end, but didn't you love him beforehand?"

I seriously contemplated his question for a minute, then shook my head promptly. To which John inquired, "But he loved you."

I shrugged. "Maybe."

"Did he do something to you? I mean, other than try to kill you..."

"What are you trying to get at?"

John's fingers crept down my arms, stroking them gingerly. "Why do you hate him so much? I've never heard of someone absolutely despising their parents for no good reason. And you're not giving me a reason."

"I just...I don't want to talk about it."

"You can tell me anything. You know that," he coaxed, sliding his hand up my shirt and grazing his fingertips across my stomach.

I shook my head and squeezed my eyes shut, blocking back my tears.

"Why are you so afraid? It's just you and me. No matter what you say, you know I'll always love you and I'll always be here for you. Don't be scared, Delilah."

The tenderness and sincerity in his voice made me give up. The words poured out of my mouth uncontrollably. "He wasn't my real dad, John. Mine was shot in the war and my mum met this guy. They had Lucy and maybe I liked him for awhile. I liked him until...until he..." I stopped, my insides becoming numb as I recalled the memories.

"Until he what?" John implored softly, holding me closer.

I shut my eyes and swallowed the lump in my throat. "He raped me."

"God," he muttered, gathering me into his arms and turning me to face him.

I crawled onto his lap, his hands wandering all over my back as I shut myself off from the world. I'd cried enough about it over the years that I felt nothing but numbness whenever the thought intruded my mind.

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" John murmured against my temple, leaving tiny kisses all over.

"I guess I was afraid."

"Of what?"

I sighed. "I don't know."


	38. Chapter 38

Chapter 38: Baby It's You

4:18 PM, January 16, 1968

John's POV

The new year came and passed and before I knew it, we were already mid-way through January. I still hadn't had much contact with the other Beatles, which I was perfectly okay with. Delilah, on the other hand, urged me to at least phone them, acknowledge them. I told her I'd rather leave them to their families; we weren't due to start recording until spring, anyway.

I was patting my face dry after rinsing away the last remnants of my shaving cream, when Delilah came up behind me and smacked my butt. I jumped and turned around to find her grinning widely at me, eyes gleaming like emeralds caught in the sun.

"What was that for?" I protested in fake annoyance.

She giggled. "You were all bent over the counter and I just couldn't resist."

"That's not a very good reason," I scolded, trying to hide my smile. "You know, I think since you've been such a naughty girl I'll have to spank you. Go on, bend over."

She shook her head and pulled me into a kiss. "I was thinking we could go somewhere today. Since it's not all blizzardy anymore?"

"Blizzardy? Nice try, but that's not a word, darling," I chuckled, leaning to touch our noses together.

"It is in my world," she replied, scrunching her nose up as she grinned cheekily.

"Your world sounds lovely. However, I think we'll have to stay in this one for today. Because I'm taking you ice-skating."

She bit her lip and squealed excitedly. "Really? I haven't gone skating since I was 12!"

"Then I guess today's your lucky day, huh? Now you go get ready, we're leaving in 20 minutes."

"20 minutes? John, I'm ready to go right now," she said, her grin becoming hopeful and pleading like a child's as I pretended to think about whether or not we were leaving right this moment.

"Well...alright. Let's go, then!" I pushed her to the front door and tore my coat off the hook, reaching into the closet and digging for my skates.

"Aha!" I resurfaced from the seemingly neverending mountain of shoes and stray mittens, holding the skates up by their laces.

"What about me, though?" Delilah pouted. I hadn't realized how genuinely overjoyed she was that I was taking her out to a frozen lake to glide across the surface on two steel blades held together by leather and polyester. Really, if you broke it down that way, it sounded quite stupid. Then again, if you get technical about nearly everything, it'll sound completely absurd.

"Don't you worry your pretty little head. I've got more in here somewhere," I chirped, disappearing back into the closet to grab blindly at the piles of redundant...well, _stuff_. "Mmm, darling, I think I feel 'em! Ah, wait...there we are!"

In my hand was a pair of ice skates I'd used when I was about 13, I think. They were certainly small enough that they'd fit Delilah and they weren't in bad shape, either. "What d'ya think? Eh, eh?"

I nudged her with my elbow and she forced an awkward smile. "Great," she spoke through her teeth.

"Aw, come 'ead, luv. They aren't _that _bad. And they're the only ones I own that'll fit you! I promise we'll go buy you some soon. Just bear with me for today. Please?" I begged, handing them off to her as she surveyed them skeptically. Almost as if she were checking them for tears or even insects. Which she probably was doing. I mean, I'd most likely do the same.

She took a deep breath after inspecting them and flashed a heartbreaking smile. "They're great, Johnny. They're _vintage_," she winked and started giggling.

I shook my head in amusement and scooted her out the door. "Have you got your mittens?"

"Yes indeed, kind sir."

"Fab," I replied in a serious tone, waiting for her reaction.

Delilah pressed her lips together, looking away as she suppressed a smile. Soon, she faked a cough to mask her laughter.

"I can't believe you said 'fab'. Oh my god, John," she snickered, swatting at my arm.

"I knew you'd like it," I smirked, linking arms with her as we clung to each other for dear life, trying our best not to go tumbling down the icy steps leading off the front porch.

"Christ, it's slippery," Delilah muttered under her breath, wobbling down the front walk as she clutched at my waist with both hands.

We finally made it to the car after a few minor slips and stumbled in, strapping on our seatbelts and cruising down the road.

I glanced over at Delilah. Her hands were folded in her lap and she stared out into the white scenery, her breath making little patches of condensation on the window as she squished her face against the chilled glass. I twirled one of her perfect dark curls around my finger and turned my attention back to the road.

I must say, Delilah was much better at skating than I'd thought. She was literally going in circles around me as I wavered on the ice, teasing me. I fell down too many times to count and eventually she relented and let me fasten my arms around her as she kept me partially balanced.

"Good, now try it by yourself," she said after a successful lap around a small patch on the frozen lake.

I gave her a look of pure terror and opened my mouth to protest, but she just smiled encouragingly and pried my arms from around her waist. I gulped and thought, _well, here goes nothing. _I took a tentative step forward, putting my arms out to steady myself as I focused every ounce of my energy on my feet. I had skated maybe 10 feet before I fell on my face. Delilah's laughter rang out in the still air as she glided over to me, offering her hand.

We were sitting in a little cafe, sipping at hot chocolate that burned the fuck out of my tongue, when I recognized a very familiar woman, my gut twisting uneasily. "You want to head back home soon, darling?"

Delilah peered up at me through her lashes, nodding obliviously. I just hoped we could get out of there before Yoko noticed us. The last thing I needed right now was more drama, which would undoubtedly occur if she spotted us. Delilah sipped at her drink in a painfully slow manner and I started to get antsy.

"Come on, luv. Let's _go_," I said in a hushed tone, trying to get her to look at me.

"What's the rush?"

I wiggled my eyebrows and motioned to where Yoko was with my head. Delilah took a quick peek, spotting her, and turned back to look at me, confusion evident on her face. I mentally slapped myself; I hadn't told her about Yoko kissing me at that ridiculous art thing back in November. I suppose I should have. I just felt like if I did, she would've tried to pin it on me. But now wasn't the time either, we needed to get out of there fast.

"We have to leave. Now. I'll explain everything on the way back," I promised, keeping my eyes focused on Yoko as I stood up.

Unfortunately, my hand clipped the edge of my mug, sending it flying off the table and onto the linoleum floor, shattering. "Fuck," I muttered, retreating my eyes from the mess to find Yoko and a number of other people staring at me.

Delilah reacted quickly and got down on her hands and knees, picking up the jagged pieces of porcelain scattered in every direction within 5 feet of the table. I joined her on the floor as a waitress rushed over with a mop, a broom, and a dustpan and took over.

I apologized profusely, eliciting a deep red blush from the waitress as she told me it was alright. Yoko chose that moment to waltz over and whisper something in Delilah's ear before winking at me and swiftly exiting the cafe. I watched Delilah's face fall, her eyes flickering to mine as the waitress blabbed on about something to me. Her voice was a dull murmur. I said a final thank you and waved her away as I kept my eyes locked on Delilah's. She was staring at me with a burning intensity that I'd never experienced before. She looked absolutely murderous; absolutely beautiful; absolutely terrifying.

After the waitress left and everyone returned to their conversations, I asked Delilah what was wrong. She glanced around the cafe and rubbed her forehead. "This really isn't the place to talk. Let's go home."

I nodded apprehensively and wrapped an arm around her waist, which she instantly swatted away. She stomped outside, waiting at the car with her arms crossed, staring into the distance. The whole ride back, she wouldn't look at me or respond when I asked her why she was so angry. As soon as we got into the house and out of our outer clothes, I demanded an explanation.

"John, how could you?" she choked, turning around slowly to reveal a tear stained face.

I took a step toward her, placing my hands on her shoulders. "How could I what?" I was honestly perplexed.

"Cheat on me! And with Judy?" she sobbed. Judy was the receptionist at the recording studio. I'd never spoken a word to her save for the occasional hello or breezy comment on the weather. Where Delilah got the idea that I was sleeping with that woman was beyond me.

"Delilah, I hardly even know her! I've said maybe five words to her in my whole life. Why would you even think I was cheating on you with her?"

She swiped at her tears, murmuring. "Yoko told me."

An immediate wave of anger washed over me and I unintentionally gripped Delilah's shoulders harder, causing her to yelp and shrink away from me. "Sorry, baby," I muttered, rubbing her gently. "That fucking woman is nothing but trouble. How would she even know, Delilah? Yoko's never around when I'm at the studio. I haven't seen her since November!"

November. I shuddered at the memory that could have costed me my relationship with Delilah, and still could. "She said an insider told her."

I scoffed. "An _insider_? She doesn't know anyone there except Paul. And Paul knows damn well that I'd never cheat on you. She's obviously lying. Why don't you believe me?"

"Because Yoko isn't the sort of person to start shit, John! She's a fucking saint and has proved herself trustworthy since we met her. You, on the other hand, have already done this once before. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe you've done it more times since then."

She wriggled out of my grasp and crossed her arms expectantly, looking more beat up than angry. I could see where she was coming from. But I'd changed so much for her! Couldn't she see that?

I started out slowly, not even sure of what I should say. "Delilah, I swear on my life that I only ever did it once," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "I knew that once was certainly enough and I didn't do it again. I haven't slept with anyone but you since that night back in '64. I know what it's like to lose you because it already happened before, even if it was for less than a day. And I really don't want to go through it again."

She remained speechless, confusion flitting through those enchanting green eyes. "And there's a reason why I wanted to leave when I saw Yoko today," I continued. "I know I should have told you this a lot sooner but I didn't, so I'll tell you now...at that party back in November...you wandered off to the bar and left me to defend myself against Yoko and her fucking nosy questions. I don't suppose you remember much of that night, since you were completely hammered."

She nodded and motioned for me to go on. "While you were gone, Yoko sort of came onto me. You know, asking if you and I were doing alright and suggesting that I was getting tired of you or something. Of course I told her everything was fine but she just _insisted _that there was something wrong. In short, she thought she'd steal me away. She kissed me."

Delilah shifted her eyes to the ground when I met her gaze. "Why didn't you tell me before?" she whispered.

"I thought you wouldn't believe me. I didn't even believe it at first. I thought she just wanted to be friends and I was...I was surprised, to say the least, when she just...moved so quickly," I blurted, raising my eyebrows. "It was completely spontaneous, you know? She'd never even hinted at anything before...so I thought you'd get pissed off and accuse me of kissing her and run off."

She took in a shaky breath and sat down on the couch, moving as far from me as possible when I joined her. I watched her scrunch up her eyebrows thoughtfully as she stared down at her legs for a few long minutes. Finally, she came to a conclusion, peeking at me fleetingly before returning her attention back to her lap.

"I don't know what to believe, John."

"Believe _me_!" I exclaimed, throwing my hands up pleadingly.

She scratched at her arm, leaving red nail marks on her pale skin. It was a terrible habit I'd tried to get her to stop since the day we met. Whenever she was nervous she'd pick at her arms until they bled, leaving little crescent moon scars. I got off the couch and kneeled in front of her, grabbing her arms and peering into her glistening eyes.

"I love you. I know I've fucked up a lot of times, but you have to believe me. We've known each other for almost 11 years now. You know how much I've changed, how much I've given up for you. Why would I throw all of that away?"

"Don't try to make me sound like a fucking burden, John. You know you didn't have to sacrifice anything for me, you could've walked out whenever you wanted. Even then, what _have _you given up? You're not the one who slept alone in an empty house for nearly four straight years, constantly worrying about whether or not you were going to be cheated on. You're not the one who was forced to kill your dad. You're also not the one who was raped more than once; you haven't had a miscarriage; you haven't been told that you'll never be able to have kids," she spat, trying to tear her arms out of my grasp.

I softened as her words hit home. My fingers unlocked themselves from around her wrists and both of our hands dropped to either side of her as we stared at each other. She was right. I was making things out to seem like I was the one who always got the short end of the stick when, in reality, _she _was the one who'd suffered all along. I shut my eyes and lowered my head to rest on her lap. She didn't flinch or try to comfort me. She simply sat there, motionless.

I raised my eyes back up to her face; same expression. "I'm sorry. You're completely right. I-"

"No, John. You know what? Just forget I said any of that. I didn't mean any of it and that was completely selfish and unfair of me to say because I know you've gone through just as much," she said, covering her face.

"Delilah," I said gently, taking her hands and raising her chin to look at me. "You've been through hell and back. How you've managed to deal with me as well as these other things over the years, I'll never know. I'll tell you a secret; whenever I run into a problem, I try to solve it the way you would. You're so tough and you always handle things perfectly. All those things you just listed, just _one _of them is enough to tear a regular person apart. But you kept going, even after all of it. You're unbreakable."

Silence. "I'm not. If you left me, that would be it. I'd fall apart," she admitted.

"So would I. Now do you believe me?"


	39. Chapter 39

Chapter 39: Every Little Thing

9:33 PM, January 16, 1968

John's POV

_"So would I. Now do you believe me?"_

She thought about it for a moment, scrunching up her nose and making me want to ravage her with kisses. "Yeah. I believe you."

I smiled in relief. A huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders. "I love you. Don't you ever forget that."

"And I love _you_," she replied, holding out her arms for a hug.

I stood and pulled her up from the couch, enveloping her tiny body in my arms as I kissed her. "So what happens now?" I murmured against her silky lips.

She pulled back and held me at arms length. "What do you mean?"

"Yoko. What do we do about her?"

"Honestly, I don't know. Just try to avoid her, I guess."

"Delilah," I whispered.

"Hmm?"

"So if she does this sort of thing again, you won't believe her, right?" I asked hopefully.

She cracked a smile and shook her head. "Good. Now, I believe I have something to show you upstairs," I winked.

She raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Mhmm, come with me, my dear." I led her upstairs and pinned her against the wall, savagely kissing her neck. She moaned a little as my hands found their way under the hem of her shirt, lifting it over her head to leave me with a view of her breasts. I groaned in anticipation and felt myself hardening as I tugged off her pants.

Delilah's POV

My meek attempts at shoving John off of me were amusing him to no end. "Come _on_, Johnny. Get _off! _I have to _pee!" _I growled through clenched teeth.

He chuckled and placed more weight on me, now fully sprawled across the entire length of my body. He knew I always had an extremely full bladder after sex and was usually a gentleman about the whole thing, but tonight he decided it would be funny to watch me squirm. So, after we'd both reached our climaxes, he collapsed onto my chest and waited for me to start complaining about the dire need to just _get to the bathroom_.

I huffed and succumbed under the pressure of his sweaty body, completely relaxing myself and finding it to be a tad laborious to breathe. That's when I really started freaking out.

"John! John, seriously get off. I can't breathe," I whined, my voice sounding dramatic to even myself. It was true, though. He was fucking heavy!

He laughed the way a father would at watching his toddler stumble around, trying to attempt the first steps. "Baby, if you couldn't breathe, you wouldn't be talking right now."

I was close to tears by now. My chest literally couldn't lift under John's weight. "John, please."

"Aww come on, Delilah. You aren't fooling anyone, however adorable that little sob act of yours is," I could hear the grin in his voice. If he just looked at me, he'd know.

I was running out of breath. "John...look at me."

"Oh, you got your wittle pouty face on now?" he teased, finally meeting my gaze.

His face immediately dropped and he rolled off of me. I took in a deep breath and flipped him off when he tried to apologize. "Just...don't do it...again," I spoke between coughs.

"I swear I didn't know! I'm sorry, baby," he called after me as I practically sprinted to the bathroom, not even bothering to shut the door. I barely made it. Oh sweet joy. Sweet, sweet relief. Since I was no longer on the verge of peeing myself or suffocating to death, I finally had time to reflect on the current situation.

"John, you dick! I could've died and you wouldn't have known it!" I swatted his arm as I plunked back onto the bed, scooching myself as far from him as the mattress would allow.

He gave me an apologetic pout and closed the distance, bringing me into a warm hug. "I'm sorry, okay? At least you didn't pee the bed." He flashed me a smirk and I buried my face in his chest, groaning.

"Do we _really _need to relive that? It was _one time!_"

He merely laughed and I was brought back to just a few months ago.

_I was lying on top of John, panting. I raised myself from his naked body and occupied the spot next to him, feeling itchy from the sweat that beamed on every part of my skin. I knew I had to go, I just didn't want to move. I thought I'd give myself a chance to cool off and then go. Evidently, my bladder had other plans. I felt a warmth start to spread below my body and wasn't really questioning what it was. Until John started laughing and literally fell off the bed. I couldn't believe it. I'd soaked the bed. Definitely one of my most embarrassing moments._

"Delilah...Delilah?" John's voice brought me back to the moment.

"Hmm?"

"I said, for the fourth time, I think, are you ready to go to sleep?" he made sure to enunciate every syllable of the last part with care.

I nodded slowly and watched his face morph from slightly annoyed to impatient. "Yeah. Sorry, I was just thinking."

"About what?" His voice softened as he clicked off the light, leaving the room in total darkness.

"That one time I pissed the bed," I muttered, hiding my face in shame as he snickered, even though he couldn't see me.

He sighed and kissed my shoulder sweetly, snaking an arm around my midsection and squishing me into his chest. "I still think you're adorable."

"Yeah well, each to their own, I guess. I mean, if I were you, I would've been out of there in a heartbeat. Honestly, ew. I _peed the bed, _John. How much worse can it get?"

"A lot worse. Trust me," he stated, clearly about to tell some nasty recount.

"Oh? Like what?" I inquired softly, leaving him no choice but to launch into story.

"Hmm. Well, I think the worst was back when I was 18. I was at a party and this girl, this absolute ditz, she was piss drunk-pun intended-"

I cut in with a sarcastic, "Ha, ha."

He clamped a hand over my mouth and shushed me, tickling my jaw with his lips as they brushed along my skin like butterfly wings. "Anyways, she was sloshed and I figured I could get her to blow me, no problem. She had her mouth right above my dick, you know. And she starts making these weird little gagging sounds. I said to her, 'Doll, you haven't even got it down your throat yet and you're already chokin'?'. And what does she do? She fucking pukes. Everywhere. I don't know how, but I managed to avoid it and fled immediately. Never spoke to her again, though I saw her at school all the time and she was constantly trying to make up for it, offering to suck me off and whatnot. Bad news, that was."

I cringed. "That's disgusting."

"Yes. Now you know why I find it cute that you peed the bed."

"I suppose it seems pretty fucking adorable compared to that," I tittered. He chuckled and pecked my temple, sighing happily.

John's POV

I woke up the next morning, my face buried between Delilah's breasts, and groaned. Today was supposed to be the start of the recording sessions for our next album. Was it so much to ask for? To just stay exactly where I was all day? Though I'm sure I wouldn't have even been up for anything relatively exciting, even, seeing as how I was in my favorite sleeping position. Delilah's back arched as she stretched, yawning. She brought her hands to my hair, fingering separate parts carefully.

"Why hello there, sir. At exactly which point in the night did you end up settling your face between my boobs?" she laughed, cupping my face as I raised my eyes to grin cockily at her.

"Right after you fell asleep," I replied, wiggling my eyebrows and winking. She just smiled.

"Well you can't just stay there forever."

I made my best pouty face. "Why not?"

"Because, silly, you have to go record those lovely songs you wrote for me today!"

"But I'd much rather stay with you, my love."

She pretended to think. "As tempting as that sounds...nope! I have shopping to do and you have recording to do. Come on, honey, make a new hit for me," she winked.

"Alright, but only because it's so hard to say no when I realize that I get to come home...to _this_," I conceded, lowering my gaze back to her naked chest not an inch from my face.

Before she could say anything I moved my hand up to lightly squeeze one breast while I teased the other with my mouth. She whimpered and both of us forgot all about the scheduled sessions I had lined up for the day.

I didn't even know that these sessions would be the beginning of the worst period in my life.


	40. Chapter 40

Chapter 40: Strawberry Fields Forever

11:51 PM, April 20, 1968

Delilah's POV

John had gone off to the studio just over an hour ago, so I figured I'd occupy the rest of my night with music and baking. As of late, I had become a sort of insomniac whenever John was away in the evenings. I was mortally afraid of someone bursting into the house and killing me. I had this irrational fear of my doppelganger (who hadn't made an appearance since November) showing up again and I couldn't shake it, no matter how hard I tried.

Shrugging into a beautiful silk Indian robe, I finger combed my hair a few times and sighed. I wanted so desperately to just get a grip on myself. I really did. But it didn't matter if there were a million locks on every door and window in the house, I wouldn't feel safe until I was no longer alone. I examined myself in the mirror and called myself out on being a coward. I raised my middle finger to my reflection before heading downstairs.

I skipped over to the record player in the living room and put on Magical Mystery Tour. It was a nice album, I thought. What with the obscure lyricism and psychedelic instrumentation. But I never dared play it when John was around. He was embarrassed (of what, I didn't know) and absolutely refused to be in the same room when I put on a Beatles record. My personal favorite from the album was "Strawberry Fields Forever".

A strange, spaced-out trip about one of John and I's favorite hangouts from when we were kids. We used to trek into the backwoods far from the orphanage it was named after and laze about in the beams of sunshine that slanted through the thick leaves of the trees. We'd spend hours just talking about everything. I missed it.

As I revisited these old memories, I sang along to Fool On the Hill and bustled around in the kitchen, sure that John would be away long enough for me to make cookies. It was a mindless, entertaining task that passed the time quite nicely and the record playing in the background calmed my nerves.

I busied myself by turning on the oven and searching for a long-untouched recipe for chocolate chip cookies I'd copied out of one of my mother's many cookbooks when I was 10 or 11. I gave up on trying to find the damn thing and just wing it. Who cared anyways? The only reason why I was even baking was to make my anxiety subside a little until John came home; so what if they were a little too sugary?

I dragged a chair across the floor and stood on it so I could see into the spice cupboard. Vanilla, baking powder, baking _soda_, flour, sugar, butter, chocolate chips...what was I missing? Eggs! I was happily whisking away at the dough, singing along loudly to "Your Mother Should Know" as I attempted to free my mind from any irrational thoughts, when I felt a sharp pain in my lower back.

I cried out and sunk to my knees when I felt something slide out of my back and heard a sickening, fleshy sound. I crumpled to the floor and tried not to throw up from the pain. What the hell was happening to me? A pair of small black boots appeared in front of me and kicked my face when I tried to look up at my attacker. A familiar laugh pierced my ears and the name of this person came to the front of my mind when I passed out.

I woke up to a mouth full of blood and spat it out onto the floor before I choked on it. My hands wandered to my back and were met with a sticky, warm substance. I screamed again when my fingers came into contact with the gash, feeling a stinging sensation. I was hurting not only on my back, but _inside _and through to my stomach, as well.

I realized with fright that someone had taken a knife and stuck it straight through my abdomen. Someone. Someone I knew well. Who was it? I knew who it was before I was out cold, why couldn't I remember now? John. I had to call John. I army-crawled to the living room, forgetting all about the cookies and came to rest at the coffee table for a break. My breath came out in short, wheezing bursts and my whole torso was on fire. I sat up and coughed, spraying blood everywhere.

The red liquid flowed out onto the luxurious carpet that had been a wedding gift from George. I was suddenly paralyzed by the unbearable pain shooting through me. No, this couldn't be happening. "Hello Goodbye" played on in the background, mocking me as the cheery voices sang along to upbeat music. I fell back to the floor, making sure to lean my head to the side so as not to drown in my own blood.

_Hello, hello!_

_I don't know why you say goodbye, I say hello_

John's POV

When I walked through the door I was met by my own voice reverberating around my living room.

_Living is easy with eyes closed_

_Misunderstanding all you see _

_It's getting hard to be someone but it all works out_

_It doesn't matter much to me..._

"I'm back, sweetheart! Delilah..." I called out, my eyes sweeping around the room.

I spotted a swath of her chocolate brown hair peeking out from behind the couch facing the fireplace. My heart stopped when I saw the blood spatters that littered the coffee table in a zig-zag trail. I looked down to find her staring up at me with glazed eyes, a red stream flowing steadily from between her parted lips. I quickly bent down, the movement making my glasses tumble to the floor. She had a dark red stain that was rapidly blooming on her stomach.

"No, no, no. Baby, what did you do?!" I muttered, searching her bloodstained body as I hovered over her.

"John," she murmured, coughing.

"Who did this to you?" I whispered, biting my lip as my tears dripped onto her neck.

"I don't know...I didn't see them. They just came in here and...shoved this fucking knife in my back," she said between vicious coughs.

I shook my head in denial and grasped either side of her face. Sweat beamed out from her sickly pale skin, her breathing increased and her eyes stared up into mine in fear and pain.

"Are they gone?!" I sobbed, stroking her cheek.

"Yeah. Whoever it was left right after, I think...Johnny, listen. I love you," she choked out, reaching up to touch my face.

"No, Delilah, don't. Don't! Don't go. _Don't go_! I love you, I love you, _I love you_, don't leave me, please!" I yelled hysterically as her hand dropped away from my jaw, landing with a thud on the carpet.

She expelled one last breath, her eyes still focused on mine. I screamed and hunched myself over her body protectively, taking her into my lap and holding her to my chest as tight as I could. The pressure in my head and chest was incredible and I let out several primal howls, crying to the heavens for taking my baby.

I carressed her beautiful curls and felt the hot, sticky skin of her face pressing into my neck. My neverending tears mixed with her sweat and blood, forming a mess on my shirt. I rocked us back and forth, her spine jutting into my hands through the thin material of her robe as I bawled into her hair, taking in her scent. She smelled of blood, sweat and that strange, sweet mixture of strawberries and sugar she'd always possessed. I swore on my life that I was going to murder the bastard who'd taken the one person that mattered to me most. My Delilah.

_Let me take you down, 'cause I'm going to_

_Strawberry fields_

_Nothing is real_

_And nothing to get hung about_

_Strawberry Fields forever_

_Strawberry Fields forever_

_Strawberry Fields forever_


	41. Chapter 41

Chapter 41: I'm So Tired

3:24 PM, May 26, 1968

John's POV

More than a month had passed and I still wasn't over the initial shock of Delilah's all-too-sudden death. I cried endlessly for weeks, not even bothering to eat. I was too overcome by grief to do much of anything. Of course I called up the lads and they offered to help me through it. But what could they do? They were obviously deeply affected by it, but no one in the world could relate to me. None of them understood how much she meant to me. She was my everything.

Strangely enough, Yoko caught wind of the news within the first week and came over to try consoling me. She was constantly badgering me about personal hygiene. Eventually, I kicked her out and holed myself up in my house. I couldn't bear to part with anything that even vaguely reminded me of her, and I often awoke to find myself in odd parts of the house with something of Delilah's grasped tightly to my body. I dreamed of her every night. I could see her, but she couldn't see me. I tried to get her attention but it was of no use.

The night it happened, I called an ambulance, even though I knew it was far too late. Of course, she was pronounced dead on the scene and they hauled her away, leaving me in the dust to mourn. All the legal matters had been settled in no more than two weeks after her death, thanks to the other Beatles, so I didn't have to worry about that. I had only to worry about how in the hell I was supposed to mend my broken heart. The gaping hole that resided there still felt new as ever and would grow just a little more with every passing day.

The house was too quiet. The nights were too lonely. On the rare occasion that I fell asleep in my own bed, I'd reach blindly for her, expecting my hands to come into contact with her warm, soft skin. But it never happened. My sleeping habits were still the same, though there was twice as much space for my body to sprawl across now. I didn't realize how much I'd taken her presence for granted. All the simple things meant so much more to me now that she was gone. The way her hair tickled my chest when she shifted herself at night. Her little moans as she dreamed. Her delicate fingers tracing up and down my body after a long day as she soothed me.

I missed all of it. And I made a list just to remind myself of everything when, one day, I would be old. More than anything I feared that I would forget certain things about her, though I'd never forget her as a whole. I had to write down everything I loved and hated about her, if only to admit to myself that she really was gone.

I missed being able to complain about how she wasn't sharing the blanket or telling her how beautiful she was when she thought she looked like a mess. I missed how stubborn she was; how hot-headed she could get if you pushed enough buttons. I missed twirling those perfect, dark curls around my fingers, I missed her slightly crooked smile, the gap between her two front teeth big enough to slide a quarter through. I missed the way her nose twitched when she lied; her ever-gentle, slightly goofy demeanor; the way she swore like a sailor when she was angry; the way her eyes scrunched up into tiny slits when she laughed; I missed her laugh. It was a jingly little giggle that could turn into a fit of snorting. I missed how spontaneous she was; deciding things on a whim and just going with it; she taught me how to live.

I missed the way her eyes sparkled like a child's when she was excited and how pink her cheeks and nose got when she was embarrassed or crying. Or when she peered up at me timidly when she was scared; her tiny feet; the way she had to stand on her toes and get me to lean down for a kiss. I missed her teasing, the way she called me stupid names and rubbed victories in my face like a 10 year old. I missed how competitive she got when it came to drinking. I missed kissing her and holding her and just _seeing _her. I wouldn't have anyone to come home to and rant about my awful day, no one to insist on making me a cake for no apparent reason. No one to people watch with, no one to know exactly what I was thinking. No one was as compatible with me as her. I missed Delilah.

I think everyone finally realized how little effort I was putting into keeping myself from flying off the deep end because the knocks and rings from the doorbell stopped by the time May came around. Paul had called a few times to inform me that the press was going batty, but I didn't need him to tell me that. They practically tried to knock down my door for weeks. They left after coming to terms with the fact that I wasn't giving any interviews and I was alone again.

And right now, something in me snapped. I'd moped around sulking for long enough that it was starting to piss me off. The sadness was still present, but the anger was clouding it and building up inside my chest. I stood up from the bed and started sobbing. Before I knew what was happening, I'd managed to go on a rampage through the house, throwing random objects around and generally destroying everything in my path, like a hurricane. When all was said and done I was left with a sense of newfound inspiration and a floor covered in broken glass.

I didn't go after Delilah's murderer because I had no clue where to start and the cops were already on it. It was still the leading case, even though they hadn't gotten very far in their search over the past month. They wouldn't have treated it with so much care if she weren't my wife. Being John Lennon was getting tiring. Everything was getting tiring. I was being swallowed by a black void, getting closer to the point of no return every day. And there wasn't a damn thing anyone or myself could do about it.

I spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning up from my psychotic break and venturing to piece myself back together, starting with my appearance. It all went by in a blur and by the time I stepped out of the house, I realized that I was wearing clean clothes, I was showered and shaved, and I was missing something vitally important. I turned and sprinted back inside to grab my notebook and Delilah's engagement and wedding rings. I didn't care that they were completely femine and could only fit on my pinky fingers, I was going to wear them for the rest of my life. It was all they'd let me keep before they buried her.

I remember the funeral clear as day.

_A small number of people had been contacted and were advised to keep the whole thing under wraps. Heaven knew we didn't need anymore press than we were already receiving. I was being driven to the church with the other Beatles, the first car behind the hearse that carried Delilah's lifeless body. It was open casket and she looked so peaceful. Her skin was still radiant, but if you looked close enough, you'd realize she was just a shade paler than usual. I stroked her cheek and gave her a final kiss before collapsing to the floor and crying in front of everyone. My beautiful girl was dead._

When I got to the studio I was surprised to find the rest of the Beatles. No one had told me they were going to be here and I thought about turning around and going home, pretending I never saw them. Those thoughts were dashed when Paul spotted me and waved, turning back to the other two as they glanced furtively at me, whispering. Fuck. I picked up my courage and walked up, their secret conversation coming to a halt as I neared the group.

Ringo was the first to speak up. He was managing a smile, as always. Usually I would have been annoyed but today I was grateful. "Hey, John. How've you been holding up?"

"Fine, Ritch. How's Mo?" I was attempting small talk; something I hadn't engaged in for a month or so.

"Ah, she's great." That was it for conversation, I guess. Oh well, better than nothing.

I greeted George and Paul in the same manner and they walked on eggshells for the rest of the day, exchanging looks when they thought my attention was elsewhere. The added pressure of them doing this plus my fragile state was enough to make me blow up.

"Would you stop fucking doing that?! I can see you! I know you're all gonna gossip like a bunch of bloody teenagers when I leave. Just fucking say what you want, okay? I don't care. It doesn't matter," I shouted, startling them in the middle of a song.

"John...we think you should take a break," Paul said, looking me over like a concerned mother.

"I'm fine, Paul. Bugger off," I snapped, looking back to my guitar and feigning interest in perfecting a chord.

George sighed. "It's okay, John. We'd understand if you took some time off. It would be better for you. You know, to get away for awhile. Sticking around here isn't going to help you get over Delilah."

I froze when he said her name. I let out a strangled cry and lowered my face, staring down at my lap as I tried to hold back my tears. Someone's hand patted at my back and I stood up, throwing my guitar to the ground and rushing out of the studio, head down. Of course George was completely right. Getting away would help. But I couldn't leave. There was still so much recording that had to be done.

I made my decision. I'd come to the studio at night to avoid everyone. I wasn't about to submerge myself in more human contact than was absolutely necessary. The pain that had been somewhat dulled for a few days came back, renewed, in a rush as I walked briskly to my car. Delilah. _Delilah._

Memories of her echoed around in my thoughts, prompting me to pull over and have a meltdown in broad daylight. I'm sure people looked at me strangely as they walked down the street. What a sight, after all. John Lennon bawling hysterically in a car on the side of the road. To hell with them all. Let the press snap as many pictures as they wanted, let the people talk; I needed a moment to let all of my built up feelings cascade out like a waterfall.

A few hard knocks sounded from the passenger window and I looked up to see Yoko peering at me worriedly through the glass. I unlocked the door and let her in, wondering what she could possibly want to say to me right now, and should I let her?

"John are you alright?" she asked stupidly, placing a reassuring hand on my forearm.

I drew back from her grip and laughed darkly. "No. I'm as far from alright as I can possibly get."

"Right. I'm sorry. I heard you were at Abbey Road and decided to come see you. But here you are, on your way back I'm assuming?"

I rubbed at my eyes and nodded, letting her hold my hand. "God, I just wish our places would've been switched."

"What?"

"It should've been me, Yoko. Delilah should've lived. She would have coped so much better," I admitted. "You know, I'd like to find whoever murdered her...and just strangle them..."

Did I imagine the dark cloud that passed over her face? "You know that wouldn't help anything, John. And besides, what would Delilah think if she heard you saying something like that?"

I shrugged. "I dunno. She's dead, though. So it doesn't matter."

I dropped her hand and started the car, driving back to my empty house. Yoko seemed less concerned about my appearance and more comforting about my...situation than the last time I saw her. It wouldn't hurt to have her over for a bit, it would at least give me awhile to focus my thoughts on someone other than Delilah.


	42. Chapter 42

Chapter 42: Happiness Is A Warm Gun

10:50 PM, December 8, 1980

It had been twelve years. Twelve fucking years. Every year on her birthday I'd visit her grave, leave tulips. Those were her favorite. I don't know how I managed to survive this long without her, but I did, just barely. I kept trying to tell myself over and over that I loved Yoko. And I did, just not in the same way I loved _her. _No...no one could ever come close to matching the love I still possessed for my Delilah. The Beatles were over. They'd been over for the last ten years and I talked to them sometimes...but it seemed they had more important things to do. I'd call them and they'd speak only half-heartedly. I couldn't blame them.

They'd never fully forgiven me for letting go of Delilah. What else was I supposed to do? Yoko was there for me when the others hadn't been. Of course I took a liking to her. She repaired the edges around that gaping hole in my heart and I was thankful for that. No, she nor anyone else would ever be able to fill that void, but at least she was the only one who tried. Who was I kidding? I'd never loved Yoko. I'd loved the idea of loving her. But I didn't tell her this; I didn't want to let her down after all the things she did for me.

I'd definitely changed a lot since Delilah's death. Physically, spiritually and emotionally. My perceptions of the world were altered drastically and I rallied against war. I sought peace in myself, most of all. But nobody knew that. They thought I was some radical activist who wanted world peace. Fuck that; I wanted inner peace. I wanted to let go of Delilah. But I never could. So I hid behind my wall of illusion. And the whole world ate it up. I became an icon.

And now here I was. Still writing songs for my one true love and adding Yoko's name to them so no one would notice who they were really for. Delilah. It seems like a lifetime ago since she passed, yet it still feels like yesterday at the same time. Everything about that night is vivid in my mind; the way she looked at me, how hot her skin was, her delicate, faltering voice. I don't know how she did it. How she managed to keep so calm when she knew she was about to die. That was Delilah, though. Always thinking of others before herself. She wanted to stay strong for me.

I always hated myself for that. I hated how I made her feel like she needed to prove something. If I could change anything about her last moments, it would be that. I would rather have her raw emotions seeping through, biting at me until I felt the same pain as her. I didn't want her to hide behind a veil. I never had.

Here we were, standing outside of my apartment. This was it. I was about to die. How did I know? Because I'd been planning my demise for three years. I couldn't stand to live without my Delilah, I wasn't going to grow old and forget about her. I wouldn't let myself. So I'd die with her memory still fresh in my mind. A hired gun was to shoot me in the back as many times as it took until I was down, making sure I was dead. I'd even arranged for him to be arrested afterward, to make it seem as though it were planned by him alone.

I was ready. I was excited. I couldn't think of anything but seeing her again. I imagined what it would be like; rushing toward her and feeling her hair against my face, her strawberry scented body being drawn into my arms, kissing those velveteen lips I'd hungered for for over a decade. Those tiny fingertips that drew lines on my body, the curve of her hips, the smile that made everything better. It was all going to be mine again.

"John?" Yoko's voice brought me back to the cool New York air, the noisy people and blaring horns of the street.

"Yeah?"

"Let's go," she urged, a tone of impatience evident in her voice and on her face. Bitch.

I nodded, smiling. She didn't even have a clue. She walked ahead, disappearing into the lobby of the building. My hand reached the door when I heard the shots ring out. I let out a short laugh, then groaned in pain. More shots. Screams rang out in the distance and blackness took me. I waited. And waited. It seemed like forever.

Then I saw her. My sweet love. My darling. My angel. Her wild curls framed her face perfectly, exactly as I remembered them. Her rosy cheeks lifted into a sad smile and those endless green eyes shone like a thousand suns. A single tear rolled down her cheek as she asked me why.

"I had to do it. I had to be with you," I cried, running up and hugging her to my chest.

"I've been waiting for you for so long. But Johnny, you shouldn't have done it. You still had a full life ahead of you."

I sobbed into her hair, stroking her back. "It's too late now, sweetheart. What's done is done. All I can do now is love you like I've wanted to."

"There's something I should tell you..." she trailed off uneasily.

"What is it, baby?"

"Yoko killed me."

I shook my head in disbelief and looked at her. "You're kidding?"

She shook her head gravely. I clucked my tongue and sighed, brushing her tears away. "Do you forgive me for being with her?"

"Yeah. You didn't know. It's alright...I love you, John."

"I love you too, Delilah."

I was home at last.

**A/N: Sorry for such a rushed ending you guys! But I honestly wasn't sure what else to write and I didn't want to put in some crappy fillers, so I thought I'd end it here with a somewhat detailed explanation of the following years after her death. Please forgive me :( Also, I really hoped you've all enjoyed reading this as much as I've enjoyed writing it! And thank you so much for your lovely feedback. You've all inspired me to write another story! **

**Namaste, peace&love, JohnLennonsThighs**


	43. Chapter 43

Epilogue (Paul's POV)

It's been 32 years since John's death and 44 since Delilah's. Funny, it seems like just yesterday I was sitting in my living room, drinking my tea, when John called, informing me she was dead. I remember it perfectly, like no other time in my life. The cup fell from my fingers, tumbling to my lap before crashing to the floor, shattering into tiny fragments as the hot liquid seeped through my pants. I remember how hard the tears fell, and how thankful I was that I was home alone.

I cried for weeks. Months. Years. I still cry every now and then. I cry for both of them. I lost the two people in my life I'd loved more than anyone else. I'd moved on, or at least I'd _convinced _myself that I'd moved on. Deep down, though, I'd never stopped loving her. Delilah was my first love and I'd never forget her. Though our relationship was fleeting and unstable due to the circumstances, it was remarkable. I cherished that one night with her in my heart forever. And every now and again I'd reach into my drawer of dreams and memories; I'd pull out that one night that she loved me the way I loved her.

Delilah was...incredible. Something totally out of this world. And as much as I'd like to think that we could've had a life together, I know I'd have never been able to understand her the way John did. She didn't belong with me, she didn't belong with anyone but John. Even then, there are times when I feel like she was too much for anyone. She was the epitome of freedom. I miss her.

John, my best friend. I've smacked myself time and time again over the years for acting so hostile toward him when Yoko came into the picture. It was too soon for me, for any of us. I guess it always would've been too soon. Yoko was a coping mechanism for John, but we all saw it as him throwing Delilah away; getting her out of his thoughts. I didn't forgive him until he died and I despised that. I should've told him I was sorry, that I understood, but I didn't.

At least he's with her now, probably laughing at me everytime I complain about my aching back and aging face. Lucky bastard still looked bright and new when he died. Of course I'd never forget John, either. My heart aches everytime I see anything even remotely Beatles-related. My heart aches when I see Dhani, George's son. Everytime I see Ringo. Which isn't as often as I'd like, mind you. I missed Geo, too. It's been 11 years since he passed...I miss the Beatles. And I'll always have a nostalgic spot in my heart for the old days. The memories we all shared.

I even came to appreciate Yoko over the years, which was no easy task. She tried to fix John when none of us did. And I respect her for that. But we all knew she'd never come close to taking Delilah's place.

And now here I am, about to go out and perform a tribute concert for Johnny and Geo with Ringo, Dhani and a number of legendary musicians. No one in the world knows it but Rings and I, but this concert is more for Delilah than anyone else.

Delilah. The one that got away.

This is it. I know exactly which song to start with. The song that epitomizes my life, the song John wrote all those years ago...my favorite of his. In My Life.


End file.
